Friday's Child
by ThePennyTealeaf
Summary: Graham's Christmas is turned upside down when Joe's cousin turns up out of the blue to investigate his disappearance.
1. Thicker than Water

_Disclaimer: I do not own Emmerdale, its characters or any content created by ITV or its affiliates. This has been a collaboration work between jjscm01 and myself, writing alternate chapters. This is our own interpretation of Joe's disappearance and is not in any way representative of future storylines or the work of the Emmerdale storylining team._

 _Christmas Eve_

Graham was halfway through his second bottle of whisky when the doorbell to Home Farm rang. Swearing, he put down his glass, managing not to drop it, and made for the door, a little unsteady.

He was expecting it to be Debbie, or maybe Cain, or perhaps Noah pestering him about his brother again. Instead he opened the door to a teenage girl that looked vaguely familiar but he couldn't quite place.

She simply stared back at him from dark brown eyes, her feet shuffling nervously as she avoided looking directly at the man in front of her.

"Oh, hello, um... I'm looking for Joseph Tate? He lives here?" She stumbled on her words, obviously feeling foolish.

She watched as the expression on the man's face darkened. He already looked rather bleary eyed, as though he was struggling to focus. By the state of his clothes and what could have been a fine tailored suit, he was just about coping.

"I... mean... Joe?" She drew out, hoping to spark some response.

"Joe's not here," said Graham, not sure whether to laugh or cry at the understatement. The girl's voice was also familiar, not unlike Joe's cut-glass tones, but with a slight twang. Australian? New Zealand? He closed his eyes as he tried to put the pieces together in his inebriated state.

"Oh, I see... well... where is he?" Jean asked, looking at him hopefully. "He said I could come and visit once he'd settled, I mean, yeah it's been like, ten months but even so..."

"Who are you?" asked Graham, a slight feeling of dread increasing as his subconscious mind began to make the connection. He'd thought that Noah and Zoe were Joe's only remaining blood relatives but of course... Zoe had a daughter.

"Jean Tate. Joe's cousin. You work for him, right?" She tucked her hair behind her ear shyly. "He's like my brother. I just want to see him. He said I could visit..."

"He's not here," Graham repeated. "He had to go away... on urgent business." He went to close the door in the young girl's face.

Jean, seeing his hesitation, stopped him by wedging her foot in between them.

"Oh yeah? And he's left you in charge? Making the most of his liquor cabinet, looks like." She frowned. "Who are you, anyway?"

"Graham Foster," said Graham, deciding against slamming her foot in the door. "Your mother made me Joe's guardian, and Joe left me in charge of his affairs." He tried to sound authoritative, but couldn't quite keep the slur out of his words.

"So... by the looks of it, I'd say that you're lying and that you bumped Joe off to claim his house?" She saw his expression grow even darker and smirked.

"I'm kidding, okay! Jeez? You look like you've had a skinful?" Her intonation went up at the end of each sentence. "So... you're not going to invite me in?"

"Does your mother know you're here?" he asked, playing his only hand. Hopefully he could get her shipped back down under ASAP.

"What does that matter to you? You're not family." Jean bit back testily. There was no way she was going to confide her problems to this weird stranger, even if he did know Joe.

"You'd better come in," said Graham, making a snap decision. This girl obviously wouldn't hesitate to make a scene.

Jean eyed him suspiciously as he opened the door, stepping into the contemporary styled grandeur of the hall.

"Wow. This is epic." She looked around, noting the little balconies and the staircase. "Wow. He's done well for himself. Mummy said he would. Just like Uncle Chris. I didn't know him, mind you..." She trailed off, noticing that Graham had headed into the kitchen and following suit.

"Do you want a drink? Coffee?" Graham asked. He needed an excuse to sober up.

"I'll have tea if you've got it. I know, Joe always drinks coffee. Or those weird protein shakes." Jean gave an exaggerated shudder.

Graham made the tea while Jean continued to talk. He wished she would stop. It occurred to him that his daughter would be about Jean's age now, if she had lived.

"This is the coolest house I've ever seen. I mean, it's so Joe!" she gushed. "But it's Christmas? What happened to celebrating the season of good will or whatever?" She looked around. "Where's the tree? The decs? The cards? Anyone would think Scrooge lived here?" She dragged her bag across the surface of the kitchen island, spoiling the immaculate surface.

"I know he's grown up now, but Joe loves Christmas. So what's the deal, eh?" Graham ignored her, handing her a cup. She trailed after him into the living room. "He have a falling out with Santa?"

"Maybe you don't know Joe that well any more," said Graham, who wasn't in the mood to acknowledge Christmas. "Anyway, technically this isn't his house, it's Kim's." He saw Jean's eyes widen at the mention of the name.

"Kim?" She stared at him. "But she left, years ago, Mummy told me. Joe bought this place." She faltered, her voice becoming higher. "I don't understand? Where the hell is he? He should be here!"

"Calm down," said Graham, gripping the back of the sofa to remain upright. "Kim bailed Joe out when he was in financial trouble. He bought this house with her money. And he had to leave because she wanted him to." It was as close to the truth as he could get.

"Why wouldn't he tell me? He always tells me everything. He said I could come and stay here, whenever I wanted? Why would he just take off? It doesn't make sense." She put her cup down on the coffee table, the tea still undrunk.

"I know it's hard to accept," said Graham, seeing Joe unconscious in the boot of his car in his mind's eye. "But Joe always looks out for number one. Kim wanted him gone, so he went. She'd have made his life hell otherwise."

"And what is Kim to you? Do you work for her now?" Jean's eyes widened. "Have you worked for her all along? Did Joe find out?" She continued to bombard him with questions. "Where did Joe go?"

"I don't know," Graham lied. "We agreed it was better if nobody knew where he was going. For his own safety."

"No. No, Joe's not a coward. He wouldn't just disappear!" She confronted him, rounding to block his path as he went to pour himself another drink. "You're a liar!" Her eyes flashed with anger, reminding Graham of Zoe when Joe was about to be expelled.

"Maybe I should call your mother." Graham's voice rose, too. "Ask her what your precious cousin's really like, if you don't believe me."

"I know Joe. He loves his family. He loves me! You won't convince me he doesn't!" She moved right up to him furiously. "And why should it matter whether Kim owns this place or not! Joe would never be scared off. So you'd better tell me the truth! Right now!" She moved the bottle he had reached for away.

"You want the truth?" Graham seized Jean by the shoulders, losing control. The last time he had felt this angry, he had beaten Joe to a pulp. "Joe is a selfish, spoilt child who couldn't manage his own money if his life depended on it! There's only one person he cares about, and that's Joe Tate. This is Kim's house, and I don't have time to pander to the delusions of a silly little girl. Now get out!" He made a lunge for the bottle behind her, this time grabbing it successfully.

"How Mummy could ever have thought that you were a suitable guardian for her nephew, I'll never know." Jean spat, a little shocked at the man's behaviour, but determined to stand her ground. "And Kim Tate, or whatever she is now? She'll ruin you. Like she ruins everyone," she warned.

"I'm going to find Joe. I am. When I do, he'll know how much we need him and love him." She grabbed her bag and headed for the door. When she got there, she turned around.

"This is Joe's home. My home. My Mum's home. You're nothing to us. Nothing to Kim. She's playing you." She paused, "Merry Christmas."

Graham listened to her footsteps retreating, until he heard the front door slam. He slumped against the drinks cabinet, trembling. His eyes caught the photograph that Joe kept on the nearby mantlepiece, himself as a baby, with his smiling parents in wedding clothes. Only Joe would give the wedding photograph of a couple who'd divorced long before they both died pride of place.

"Why can't you leave me alone?" he asked aloud. He wasn't sure who he was talking to.


	2. Warm Welcomings

Jean huffed as she slammed the door behind her, realising then just how isolated she was. Home Farm was miles from anywhere. She didn't know the area and she could hardly go back inside and ask inebriated Graham for help. He had made his stance quite clear, but perhaps it hadn't helped that she had lost her temper. She'd been warned about that too many times in the past.

She took out her phone and tried to search maps for local villages. Connelton, Robblesfield, Hotten and Emmerdale.

Emmerdale. She settled on, looking for directions. 8 miles. In her flat pumps, they would get absolutely soaked on this ground.

She moved out of the drive and braced herself, turning in the direction of the post that read, Emmerdale to the left.

"Ey! Ey! Where you off to?" Called out a raggedy looking man from a beaten up truck.

Jean continued walking, heeding her mother's warning about strangers.

"Sam! Yer frightenin' er." Warned the woman next to him, as he stopped the truck. "Let me, eh?"

Lydia jumped down from the seat and wandered toward Jean.

"You look like yer lost?" She began gently.

Jean stopped as Lydia caught up with her. She seemed friendly enough, there was nothing particularly threatening about her. How could there be, wrapped up in a thick bright coat, woolly hat and knitted gloves and scarf. Yet still Jean remained on her guard.

"Yer shouldn't be walkin' on yer own out 'ere. Not on Christmas Eve o'all things."

"I'm not. I'm on my way to the village."

"Oh? Seein' family?"

"No. He's not here."

"Who isn't?"

"My...brother." Jean stumbled on her words. It seemed the safest thing to say. "I thought he lived round here. Turns out he doesn't."

She shrugged, "haven't seen him for years."

"Oh," Lydia looked aside, puzzled, "well our Sam knows everyone in t'village. What's his name? Might know him?" She asked urgently, but with genuine interest. There was something striking about this young girl and her accent, the twang barely disguised her posh and prim tone.

"Tom." Jean bluffed, "I probably got the village name wrong."

She turned to walk on.

"Well, yer can't go wanderin' round for hours. Get in t'back, we'll give yer a ride t'village."

"You're okay." Jean replied.

"We're not leavin' yer." Warned the man, "our Samson'll make room for yer, won't yer, son?"

A sweet faced teenage boy poked his head out of the back window. At once Jean felt more at ease. They had children. Her shoulders relaxed.

"Come on up." He gestured, holding out his hand for Jean to take.

"Thanks." She replied uncertainly, climbing in beside him as Lydia boarded the truck in the front.

"T'village, then." Sam declared and the truck pulled away, rattling down the country lane to the village.

Having reached their destination, Sam pulled the truck to a clattery stop.

"Yer sure yer'll be alright?" Lydia asked, looking at Jean worriedly as she watched the girl shuffle toward the gate.

"I'll be fine. Thanks. See you." She offered as a awkward response.

"Yer need owt, come and ask. Wishing Well cottage." Lydia instructed, gesturing.

"Thanks again." Jean added, before making her way out of the yard.

"She were a bit weird, weren't she?" Samson remarked.

"Hmm." Lydia mused, watching after her. "but we shouldn't judge, now." She patted his shoulder, "don't know where she's come from, do we?"

"Nor, s'pose not."

"Go on, you get inside, get us a brew, eh? I'll help yer dad."

"Thanks Lydia." Samson replied warmly, as Lydia collected the rest of the Christmas goods from the back of the truck.

"Yer lookin' out?" Sam commented, noting Lydia's dazed expression.

"Nor. Don't mind me."

"Thinkin' about 'er? T'lass?" Sam suggested curiously.

"Summat about her." Lydia mused, adjusting the crates in her gloved hands, "reminds me o'someone."

"Aye, well, all look t'same round 'ere." Sam chortled jovially, wandering back toward the cottage, "me dad'll be pleased wi'this lot. Fit for us Kings."

"Aye, we'll 'ave a lovely Christmas." Agreed Lydia, "love you, Sam Dingle." She kissed his cheek and he blushed, trembling.

"Ey, yer soppy." He shook his head, obviously pleased and Lydia headed inside with the boxes.


	3. Friend or Foe?

"I'll get it, Eric!" Faith called out at the sound of the clanging bell in the hall. Tottering across the laminate floor in her high heels, she opened the door with a bright smile to find an unfamiliar face staring back at her. Faith, not one to judge, could not help but survey her properly. Smart, well dressed, if foolishly for Yorkshire weather, a little sparkling Beanie hat with waves of dark hair framing a very pale face with what appeared to be unaturally large brown eyes. By contrast to Faith, who was used to cheap as chips and a little luxury now and then, Jean could have been the Queen of Sheba. She had an air of class about her that suggested that she wasn't local.

"Merry Christmas!" She greeted the stunned girl who stood on the step, face pinched from the cold. "Oh, 'ello. What can we do fer you?"

Jean swallowed.

"Sorry. You're obviously..." she turned to walk away.

"Ey, I don't bite!' Faith teased, "yer look like yer could do wi' a nice hot brew."

"Its okay. Sorry I disturbed you." Jean apologised quickly, turning her back and walking away briskly as fast as she could manage through the snow. The bitter weather had left the courtyard like an ice rink.

"Ey; come back here!" Faith shouted after her, waving.

"Er...Faith, I would rather..." an old man with white hair and a tight expression appeared at her side, "what on earth is this?"

"Little lass," Faith explained, "just rang t'bell, I en't 'ad much chance to talk to 'er."

"I see. Well, mind you keep an eye." He hissed, watching the girl shuffle around the yard.

"Will do, Captain." Faith saluted pointedly.

"You've seen the helm I bought then?"

"I have. Very strong structure." Faith grinned. "I wouldn't mind tryin' it out later." She winked.

"We'll see."

"Could be your first mate." Faith shrugged, a mischievous twinkle in her eyes.

"Aha!" Eric held up his finger and wandered off to the kitchen.

"Ey!" Faith caught up with the mysterious stranger, "what's all this about, eh? Knockin' on doors and then runnin' away?"

Jean ignored her.

"There's definitely summat up." Faith blocked her way. "Come on, lass. I en't gonna judge yer."

"I got lost, I thought..." Jean admitted, "I'm looking for someone and the place I thought he lived...well, he's not there anymore." She shrugged.

Faith saw the desperation, the despondence in Jean's face.

"I see. Well, yer can't be wanderin' round 'ere on yer own, I know that much, 'specially not on Christmas Eve." She put her arm around Jean's shoulder, "yer must be about the same age as our Sarah, I'd like to think someone'd do t'same for her if she were in trouble." She ushered her around to face the barn, "come on, lass. I'll make yer a brew, then we'll see about findin' this friend o'yours?"

"He's not a friend."

"Alright, boyfriend then?" Faith suggested good naturedly.

"No."

"Pretty lass like you? Yer should 'ave beaus aplenty, 'angin off both arms?"

Jean shook her head.

"Never mind, plenty o'time for it. There's all sorts in our family. Live and let live is what I say." Faith led her into the house and a comfortable open plan lounge. "Now, you take a seat there, lovie. I'll get us a brew and 'ow about some nice biscuits? Eh?"

Jean nodded, sitting obediently on one of the sofas; relishing the warmth of the fire and welcome. It was certainly better than being outside in the cold, even if it was a slight against everything her mother had ever taught her. She wondered how she was doing and her hand reached into her pocket for her phone. A flashing battery icon declared that it was desperately low on power. Frowning, she shoved it back into her pocket and took a moment to adjust and reflect, a pertinent, painful memory rushing back.

 _"You're not to see him, Jean! I forbid it!"_

 _"You can't forbid me! I'm fifteen years old! It's my choice!"_

 _"You're still a child and I'm your mother. You'll stay here, do as you're told!"_

 _"I want to see him! Why shouldn't I? Please, Mum, tell me!"_

 _"You know why, you know! What is it between the two of you? You love him more than you love me?"_

 _"No, Mum! Of course I don't! I just…want to see him."_

 _"And you will. Eventually. But until then, you'll stay here. Do you understand me, Jean?"_

Faith shuffled into the kitchen, where Eric was pottering around and tapped his shoulder.

"You look happy." He observed.

"My good deed for t'day."

"Oh yes?"

"I've brought her in. Poor thing, looking for someone apparently."

"You've done what?" Eric seethed, his face flushing. He was extremely distrusting of strangers.

"Oh, don't be so grumpy, Scrooge." Faith flipped her hand, pouring tea into two mugs.

"You don't know anything about her! She could be anyone!"

"She's just a lass whose lost. I think we can spare her a cuppa?"

Faith bustled back into the lounge.

"There y'are," she set the tea down, perching on the edge of the sofa, "now, yer gonna tell me t'truth?"

Jean took a few sips of the golden liquid and nodded.  
"Faith! What did I say..." Eric stumbled at the sight of Jean. "Good Lord..."

"What? Was is it?" Faith demanded impatiently.

"Good Lord, it can't be..." Eric repeated, peering at Jean's face, "but it is, isn't it?"

"Who? What?" Faith persisted, as Eric moved closer to Jean.

"Zoe." He sighed deeply. "The image of your mother."

"Thank you." Jean replied shyly.

"Who is she? Who are you, love?"

"Jean Tate." Eric clarified, sensing Jean's anxiety. Her hands were stuck to her mug.

"Tate? You don't mean...another one?"

"Not Joe's father, no." Eric answered.

"And they say Dingles breed like rabbits..." Faith sighed, "so, whst brings you here?"

"I'm looking for Joe." Jean admitted, as Eric took the seat opposite.

"Looking for Joe, eh? Good luck with that! Our Debbie in't seen 'ide nor 'air o'him since he jilted her at t'altar!"

Jean's head snapped toward Eric.

"Joe was getting married?" Her dark eyes widened.

"Oh, aye. S'posedly, anyhow. Told her he loved her...and disappeared." Faith shook her head, "left her 'eartbroken."

"Faith, perhaps I can explain..." Eric interjected, but Faith was well into her stride; huffing along like a train.

"What is there to explain? Eh? Lad went off without a care in t'world. Never tellin' anyone owt. He's best off gone, cos believe me, he steps one foot back in sight of our Cain and he'll kill him!"

"Faith! A moment, if you please!" Eric held up his hand.  
Faith stood up and turned away.

"Joe wouldn't hurt anyone." Jean began, "he must have had a reason..." she reflected on what Graham had said.

"I can't give you an answer on that." Eric admitted, "but what I will say is that a lot has happened since your cousin's arrival. Not all of it complimentary."

"Humph!" Agreed Faith, "he pretended to love our Debbie, give her a future wi" t'kiddies in a big house, lots o'money...then he ripped it from under her. Twice. Always said he were a bad'un and I didn't even know t'full story til our Charity..."

Eric's face fell into his hand.

"Charity?" Jean's face perked up with interest, "you don't mean..." she glanced at Eric.

"Well done, Faith!" Eric reprimanded sarcastically, "Charity still lives here, yes. Your mother..."

Jean pursed her lips.

"Yes, she mentioned her."

"I see." Eric leaned forward, "so you were coming to see Joe for Christmas; I take it?"

Jean nodded.

"Ah."

Despite his grumpiness, he seemed far friendlier than Graham, Jean thought to herself.

"You've been up to Home Farm then?"

"Yes. I got...thrown out."

"By the butler? Dunt surprise me, bleedin' drunk last time. Either that or he's playin up to Madam Queen Bee herself."

"Queen Bee?'

"Yes," Eric began awkwardly in a gruff voice, "Kim Tate."

Jean clutched the sofa.

"Yeah. Graham mentioned her. He said Home Farm belongs to her. But its Joe's." She paused, "isn't it?"

"I don't know the finer details of your family, young lady, but I knew your mother and I can say with absolute certainty that she was the most decent one of that family. Whereas Kim Tate clawed her way up, destroying everything in her path."

"Graham said that Kim bailed Joe out." Jean sighed, setting her mug down, "but I don't believe it. I just don't. Joe wouldn't just vanish, either. I know him."

"We all thought we knew him!" Faith retorted, "but he were lyin' to us t'whole time! Yer just like our Debbie, clingin' on."

"That's enough. Faith, perhaps you could check with Diane as to availability at the B&B so that we can find Miss Tate somewhere to stay tonight?"

"Miss Tate, eh?" Faith scorned, "if she's anythin' like that spoiled rat, ooh! I could just swing for 'im!" She huffed as she went to the phone.

"You don't have to help me." Jean told Eric.

"On the contrary, I'd be doing your mother a disservice if I didn't. I suppose she knows you are here?"

Jean swallowed, uncomfortable.

"Not exactly."

"I see." Eric nodded knowledgeably, pushing on his knees to stand up with a groan, "well...as Faith has said, no one has seen Joe since October. By all accounts he left without a word to Debbie."

"Debbie?"

"Debbie Dingle. Local girl." Eric explained, pacing, "I'm afraid the Tate name isn't popular around here at the moment."

Eric, concerned at Jean's lack of response, took a moment to reflect.

"How is your mother?"

"Fine. She's fine." Jean replied, an edge to her tone that was familiar to Eric. He knew the habits of the Tates well enough to know that Jean's response implied that whatever was happening was a secret and therefore best left alone.

He was about to continue when Faith reappeared.

"No room at the inn." She declared, huffily.

"I did wonder." Eric acknowledged, "well, I suppose you'll have to put up with us."

Jean looked up at him, stunned.

"What? Keep her here? She's one of them!"

"We can't throw a child out on Christmas Eve, Faith." Eric snapped, "we have a spare room."

"In a Barn. How ironic." Faith observed, "well? On your own head, be it." She held up her hands, walking away.

"Don't worry, she'll come around." Eric assured Jean, "you can stay here until we can get things settled. Is there anyone I should call? Your mother, perhaps?"

"No! No..." Jean retracted quickly, "time difference. You'll wake her up."

"Of course. I didn't think...where is it you are living?"

"New Zealand."

"I thought I recognised the accent." Eric agreed pompously, sitting next to her, "Faith is very loyal to her family. Unfortunately after what happened with Joe, things have taken a turn for the worse for the whole family. Your arrival has just reminded her of the enormity of the situation."

"She's a Dingle too?"

"Yes, she is. Some would say the matriarch. It has been a hard year for them." He paused, standing up, "anyway, such is the way of things."

He crossed the carpet.

"I don't suppose Graham mentioned an Aston Martin by any chance?"

"No."

"Pity. Ah well, mustn't dwell on lost opportunities." He glanced around, "where is your luggage?"

"I had it...at Home Farm. I must have left it there." She realised, horrified.

"Ah. Not to worry. We'll arrange to get it back for you."

"Graham told me to get out. He won't want to see me."

Eric tilted his head.

"Perhaps? We can but try." He told the girl, still astonished by her resemblance to Zoe.

"Its not a good idea. He was really angry."

"Nevertheless; you cannot go without your luggage. Leave it to me. I'll see Mr Foster myself. Faith will help you settle in."

He picked up his coat.

"Faith!" He cried and Faith returned to the lounge.

"Yer goin' out?"

"Miss Tate has left her luggage at Home Farm in her haste to leave. I am going to collect it for her."

"Fetchin' n'carryin already?" Faith scorned, folding her arms, "never thought you'd be one to bow and scrape, Eric Pollard."

"I told him to leave it," Jean interrupted. "He doesn't have to. I don't want any trouble."

"Ha! Tell that to our Debbie. Our Sarah, our Jack! Left wi'nowt."

"But that's not my fault. I didn't do it."

Faith took a moment to digest this and relented.

"I forget meself. No, it in't your fault, lass. I know that. Deep down I do. But seeing you 'ere..."

"Its like Joe all over again, right?"

"I'll um...go and get the case." Eric advised, closing the door.

"Thanks!" Jean called out.

"So your mother," Faith continued.

"Mummy is Joe's aunt."

"Ah, so nowt to do wi'our Charity."

Jean twisted her mouth.

"Er..."

"Don't worry, lass. We'll keep yer 'ere til yer find out what's goin' on with that cousin o'yours. But I tell yer, yer'd better hope no one else finds him first." Faith warned darkly, suggesting that Joe had left a legacy worthy of the family name, however tainted.

"Joe wouldn't run away." Jean told her decisively, as Faith picked up some keys and led her to a spare room upstairs, "he wouldn't."

Faith sighed.

"Well, he has. Since October. But you'll be pleased to know her Royal Highness is back inside too."

"Kim is in prison?"

"From what I 'eard, yes. Now, make yerself at home. Eric'll be back soon, so you just sit tight til 'e gets back. We'll prob'ly pop up t'pub, if you want to join us?"

"I'd like that. Thank you."

"Well, I'll say one thing," Faith adjusted the curtains, "yer got better manners than that cousin o'yours."

"Thanks."

As Faith rattled on about the party that had been held at Home Farm, Jean found herself zoning out, completely immersed in her memory.

 _"You are not going to see him. I've told you."_

 _"Mum, I have to."_

 _"No, you don't. Let's leave it at that please. I have such a headache."_

 _"Mum? Mum?"_

"You okay, love?" Faith cut into her daze, leaning toward her, taking her cold hand.

"I'd better go up to bed." Jean offered, "feeling tired."

"O'course. You go on up, 'ave a nap." Faith suggested, "you'll feel better for it."

Jean nodded, dragging her exhausted frame up the stairs to the little room that Faith had made up for her. It was light and airy with a small cottage style window framed by plaid curtains, a little chest of drawers upon which was propped a mirror and some essentials and a very comfortable wrought iron bed with a patchwork cover.

"Make yerself at 'ome." Faith told her, as Jean perched on it, unsure.

"Thank you," she mustered.

"Aye, its nowt. Sweet dreams then." Faith told her with a fond smile that confirmed that she was familiar with how to manage children. She had mentioned a granddaughter too, Jean recalled. Sarah. She sniffed loudly, waiting until Faith had left before sinking into the cover and sobbing silently.


	4. The Curse of Home Farm

Eric made his way through the frosty country lanes to the imposing Gothic mansion that stood alone behind the trees, bleak and dark despite the festivities. A trio of cars lined the drive, Eric recognised the prized Aston Martin that he had bid for at the auction, the Jaguar and the Discovery as he pulled his own car into a space next to them.

"So much hatred, so much trouble..." he muttered half amusedly, half sadly, as he approached the front doors.

Inside, Graham was deep in contemplation, the fragments of a bottle spread out around him. His head lifted slowly as he acknowledged the sound of the doorbell and hauled himself to the door, staggering slightly.

"What do you want?" He asked of Eric, who simply gaped at him. The polished bodyguard of some weeks previously had been replaced by a haggard looking drunk with puffy, weary eyes and ruffled hair. His shirt was stained, the waistcoat askew and he had the air of someone who had completely given up.

"Well, I've seen some wrecks in my time..." he started.

Graham scoffed.

"Do you want a drink?"

"No. I'm here to collect some luggage." Eric replied.

"Ah," Graham swayed, "belonging to a spoiled little brat who intruded..." he rolled his eyes and stumbled toward a little pink case that stood by the pool table. "She's staying with you, is sssshe?'

"For the time being. She mentioned that you had thrown her out."

"Ssshe wouldn't stop talking." Graham grit out, "wouldn't stop. Just constant. Constant. About Joe. Zoe. Kim." He picked up another bottle from the bar, "what did she expect?"

"Perhaps some kindness is not too much to ask." Eric responded, "for goodness' sake man! I know Kim Tate of old and I will tell you, she won't stand for this kind of pitiful drunkeness."

"Go away, Eric." Graham shoved the case at him, "tell them all to stay away."

"That girl, is the last bastion of goodness in that family and you would turn her out because she is not Joe?"

"You don't know anything. So don't push me." Snarled Graham, moving closer to Eric in a threatening manner.

"I know you loved that boy." Eric continued, "but he is not the only one who needs you."

"Go home, Eric." Graham went to shut the door.

"She is still a part of Joe's family." Eric reminded him. "And you'd be better to look after her than the memory of a boy who will never come back. At least, not whilst Kim Tate remains on the throne."

"Have you finished?" Graham snipped.

"I think so." Eric drew out a breath, clasping the handle of Jean's case.

"Thank you. Now perhaps you'll leave me in peace."

"Solitary, isolated, desperate. The Curse of Home Farm." Eric observed knowledgeably.

"Goodbye, Eric." Graham shut the door, returning to the lounge and melancholy despondence.


	5. One of Them

"Right, in 'ere." Faith pushed opened the door of the Woolpack and ushered Jean into the cosy pub. It was well decorated, a balance of old and new with traditional beams and sashed windows. The atmosphere was welcoming and warm, as were the people, who were scattered around at the bar and tables.

"Just here." Eric claimed a table in front of the fire, with two inviting armchairs set around it. He allowed Faith and Jean to take these and assumed the normal chair himself.

"Menus." He realised, standing up to go to the bar to fetch them.

"Ey, don't look so nervous. Nowt to be frightened of in here." Faith assured her.

Jean swallowed.

"S'pect they don't have places like this in New Zealand?"

"They don't." Jean agreed as Eric rejoined them, planting menus on the table.

"Right. Drinks on this Christmas Eve!" He exclaimed.

"I'll have a Drambuie and Coke." Faith replied, avoiding Chas' eyes as she passed.

"What's she up to?" Charity queried, leaning over the bar, eyeing Faith suspiciously.

"Who?" Chas asked, putting the empties on the bar.

"Yer mother. She's up ter summat."

Chas turned around.

"Nor. Can't see it meself."

"Then whose she?" Charity gestured at Jean.

Chas shrugged.

"Dunno? Eric's niece maybe? Anyhow, I do pay yer ter do summat other than gossipin'. Barrels changed yet?"

"Its Christmas Eve! I should be letting me 'air down, partyin' ter early hours, not stuck here serving grumpy Scrooges."

"Speakin' o'which, you 'eard about t'butler?"

"Graham? No, not since 'e evicted Debs? Why?"

"Recluse. On t'bottle every day so Priya says."

"Good riddance. 'Opefully 'e'll drink himself into an early grave an' take Wasp Face with him." Charity snarled.

"Would it be too much to ask for service?" Eric approached the bar.

Charity went to respond with a cutting remark but Chas stopped her.

"What can I get yer, Eric?"

"A Bloody Mary, Drambuie and Coke and a cream soda, please. We'll also have a Yorkshire Supper to share in honour of our guest. Introducing her to the local cuisine."

"Marlon'll bring it over." Chas answered, "yer guest anyone we know?"

"I doubt it." He collected the drinks and returned to the table, handing the cream soda to Jean.

"There you are. Food won't be long."

Jean took a sip of her drink and glanced around, surprised at the amount of faces who were staring at her.

"They're staring." She muttered.

"They'll soon tire of it." Eric assured her kindly.

"We'll have to tell 'em." Faith advised.

"I don't think that would be wise, considering the circumstances in which Joe left."

"I can't lie to our Chas."

"Faith." Eric cut her off warningly.

Faith sat back, drinking her Drambuie and Coke.

"Find out who she is?" Charity asked Chas as she swept past.

"Nor. But there's definitely..." she considered, concentrating hard, "reminds me o'someone."

Charity turned her head sharply toward Jean.

"Hi." She greeted Jean, who just looked at her, puzzled and Charity moved into the corner, "hope you're enjoyin' yer evenin'. Just wanted to check everything's okay, yeah?"

"It is. Thank you." Eric replied, refusing to look Charity in the eye.

"Good. What we want." Her eyes drifted to Faith, searching for any telling behaviour. To Jean's surprise, Faith put her arm around her.

"Just a little stray whose staying with us for Christmas." She explained quickly.

"Oh right." Charity nodded, nudging Eric, "didn't think you were that generous. Always saw you as more of a Scrooge."

Eric pulled a face.

"Yes, well, its Christmas."

Charity grinned at Faith before going back to Chas.

"Definitely summat dodgy, there."

"Hmm." Chas replied as Debbie entered the pub. She looked gaunt and troubled.

"Debs!" Charity gasped, "I thought..."

"Got one day of leave." Debbie informed her curtly, "I need to see Sarah and Jack."

"Course. They're upstairs." Charity advised, stunned.

Debbie pushed past her in her eagerness to see her children, jerking the table next to Eric's.

"Debbie!" Faith stumbled around the table.

"Sorry, I can't do this now, Gran. I have to see the kids!" She came to a sudden stop.

Faith managed to disguise her hurt as Debbie's face darkened, staring directly at Jean.

"What the hell is she doing here?"

Charity placed her hand on Debbie's back.

"Who, babe?"

"Her!" Debbie seethed, pointing.

All eyes darted to Jean, who paled.

"Lets not have any trouble, Debbie." Eric warned.

"Trouble? Oh yeah? Cos they're so innocent, aren't they? Nothing is ever their fault!"

"Babe, what is it?"

"Just when I thought I'd got my life back on track, put that rat out of my head, him and everything he did...you turn up!"

"I'm sorry." Jean muttered.

"Sorry? You think that solves everything?" Debbie snapped, temper flared.

"Babe, I don't get it? Who is she?"

"Will someone please tell us whats going on?" The entire Dingle clan had assembled.

"Tell em!" Debbie demanded, "or shall I?"

Jean stood, slowly, lifting her head so that everyone could see her.

"I know you're angry, Joe loved you, he really did. He wouldn't just disappear."

"Joe?" Charity pounced on the name, "whats it to do wi'you anyway? How d'you know 'bout him?"

Debbie's mouth trembled, her expression a mixture of anger and sadness.

"Of course she knows who he is." Debbie snapped, "because she's one of _Them_." She spat.

"I think that's quite enough for one night." Eric stepped to defend Jean.

"No; what d'yer mean, Debs?" Charity persisted, although something told Jean that she already knew what was coming.

"She's Jean Tate."

Charity's face fell, it was like the Tom revelation all over again.


	6. Stark Revelations

"Jean Tate? Yer kiddin? Not..." Charity gaped at the girl. "Oh my God, it is!"

"Zoe obviously got word, then." Debbie continued briskly.

"No. I'm here on my own."

"On yer own?" Charity repeated curiously, "what about yer Mam?"

Jean looked awkward.

"Oh, I see. Run away from 'ome, ave yer?"

Jean made no reply. The truth was far too painful to think about.

"Don't push it; eh?" Faith interjected reasonably.

"And you're now a fan?" Charity gawped, "well that's just brilliant. So what are yer doing here, kid?"

"Looking for Joe."

Debbie continued to glare at Jean.

"Yeah, like you don't know where he is." She scorned.

"I don't." Jean replied evenly, "I went to see him at Home Farm."

"And instead you found a pathetic drunk."

"He threw me out."

"One Yorkshire Supper..." Marlon appeared with the dish, intending to serve. "Have I missed summat?"

"Looks like we've got a visitor." Chas muttered.

"Who?"

"Jean Tate." Charity gestured, "damned spawn of Zoe."

"Now that's enough." Frank stood up, seeing the expression on Jean's face, "perhaps we should all calm down and think this through properly."

"I don't need to." Debbie hissed, "they're all the same." She turned away and sauntered into the back of the pub as the audience dispersed, Charity and Chas remaining in place.

"Show's over, folks." Eric declared.

"I just need a minute." Jean moved swiftly away from the table, cheeks red with humiliation. It wasn't her fault she had been born into a family that people hated, yet it felt so personal. She understood Debbie's frustration and no doubt her heartbreak, but it wasn't her doing. It was Joe. Again.

"Well, that went well. Yer can always count on our Charity." Faith admitted ruefully.

"I know Debbie's angry, but that was unnecessary." Conceded Eric coldly.

"Well, that were a bit of a shock, werrit." Kerry remarked as she and Dan made their way back to the cottage, Bernice and Dr Cavanagh behind them with Leanna and Gabby following.

"That was a little unfair of Debbie," agreed Bernice, arm firmly linked with Liam's.

"Yer telling me! Outin' a kid like that, not 'er fault she's Joe's cuz, now is it?" Kerry continued, "mind yers; I s'pose after what she went through, she's lookin for anyone to blame."

"I suppose." Bernice conceded with a sad nod. "Poor thing, though."

"I take it that its something of a sour point where Debbie is concerned." The doctor added reasonably.

"Yes," Bernice admitted, "although who can ever be sure of anything where that family's concerned?" Liam looked between Bernice and Kerry, sensing that there was something more.

"I knew Jean's mother, Zoe." Bernice confessed, "she was the vet here. Established the surgery, actually."

"And?" Kerry shrugged.

"Well, she was rather...volatile. Quick temper and utterly devoted to her brother."

"But what's that got ter do wi't'kid?" Dan leaned in.

"Well, something's obviously gone on, hasnt it?" Bernice queried, "a child doesn't just turn up alone on Christmas Eve."

"S'pose not. Her Mam'll be missin' her terrible, like." Kerry reflected.

"Well that might be why she's come back for Joe." Bernice suggested, "maybe something has happened."

"It isn't really our place to speculate." The doctor intervened wisely.

"No, of course not. But most people won't help because of Debbie." Bernice squeezed his arm, "family loyalty and all that. Whereas little Jean has no one, it seems."

"Well, me and Dan are happy to help. Didn't like him much, but she's not much older than our 'Melia." She turned to Dan, "right?"

"Aye. We'll help." Agreed Dan.

"Debs!" Charity called after Debbie desperately as she burst into the lounge at the back of the pub.

"I can't do this again! I can't!" She gasped, close to tears.

"What's going on?" Noah moved into the room, having heard the ruckus from upstairs. His face was tight with concern for his sister.

"Debs, its not like she can do anything!" Charity insisted.

"Its not that! You dont get it do you?" She snapped at her mother, "they're still here! He's still here! How can I move on with my life if he keeps coming back to haunt me?!"

Charity caught her daughter's hands.

"Listen to me, okay. Its over. He's gone." She emphasised, amid Debbie's tough expression, "Babe, he left you high and dry. He never cared about you. Just like his dad." She lowered her voice.

"Yer can't blame Joe for everythin!" Noah retorted, "he wouldn't just leave yer. He loved yer. I know he did!"

"Noah," Charity began, turning to look at her son, who was looking more and more Tate like everyday.

"Nor. I won't hear it! You saw Joe! You knew him! You heard what Kim said and yer let her walk over yer. Joe woulda fought for yer!"

"But he didn't, did he?" Debbie sniped back, "he left me standing in a hospital chapel, all dolled up with Sarah. He left her heartbroken and I can't forgive him for that. He lied to us. But that was him. He was a fake. Nothing about him was real." She spat.

"I don't believe yer!" Noah snapped.

"Babe, sit down, yeah?" Charity suggested to Debbie.

Debbie hesitated.

"I need some air." She announced and left the room, shutting the back door behind her.

"Mum, whats going on? Why is everyone shoutin?" Noah persisted.

Charity allowed her eyes to roll slowly, unsure of how to broach the subject.

"Mum?"

"Alright, Noah. I'm just...babe..."

"What is it? What's going on?"

"Your dad, had a sister."

"Zoe, yeah, Joe told me 'bout her. He used to live wi'er."

Charity swallowed.

"Well, she had a daughter. Jean."

"Yeah?"

"Jean's come back."


	7. No Good Deed Goes Unpunished

Up at Home Farm, Priya was determined to sign everything off as complete before Christmas. She had made the journey up to the house specifically, despite Graham's insistence to ensure that she kept her job after Christmas, when Kim was expected to return.

What she found disturbed her greatly. The lounge was littered with empty bottles, cans and to her concern, blood.

"What happened here?" She asked.

Graham appeared from the hall, stumbling and staggering, his image far from the one that Waterhouse International intended to represent, of that Priya was certain.

"Priya."

Priya spun around.

"Are you alright? Should I call someone?" She noticed his injured hand.

"There's no one left to call." Graham shuffled past her, falling on the sofa.

"There must be someone?" Priya persisted.

"There isn't. Go home, Priya. Go home to your family."

"I can't just leave you like this." She insisted, clearing the bottles and cans, "you need help."

"All I need is another bottle of whisky." Graham slurred.

"Well you're not getting one," Priya told him firmly, addressing him like a mother to a naughty toddler, "I've sent all the proposals and signed everything off, so we're all set." She added confidently.

"I'm overjoyed."

"Well, I'm not leaving you. I'll get you some coffee, yes? When was the last time you had something to eat?"

Graham glanced wearily up at Priya.

"What do you care?"

"That's the point, I do."

Graham laughed.

"No Priya, all you care about is keeping your job and keeping on Kim's good side. If there is one." He grimaced.

"Well, yes I do care about my job, but I'm concerned about you. How it will appear to people in relation to Waterhouse International." She admitted, as Graham nodded, smirking.

"As I thought. Well," he stood lazily, "you won't have to wait too long to claim my place."

"Graham, you can't keep going on like this." She stopped him.

"Who says? Just go home, Priya. Your job is safe." Graham hissed, his weary face betraying the hurt and anger inside.

Priya could see it was futile to argue.

"Fine, I will go. But I'll come back on Boxing Day to check on you."

"There's no need."

"I want the keys to the cellar though. Joe was very protective of his wine collection."

"Joe isn't here."

"No, but they aren't drinking wines. He's spent ages collecting them."

"Of course." Graham responded softly, looking away, dazed as though caught in a memory. "You don't trust me?"

"I don't think you're in the right state to manage things. Let me get you a bandage for that hand and some coffee." She decided, sweeping into the kitchen to fetch the first aid kit that Graham had used only a few months before when he had battered Joe.

She made the coffee and returned with it, to find Graham staring out of the window.

"White Christmas." He murmured, smirking, "of course it would be."

"Right; coffee." Priya declared, placing it on the coffee table along with the first aid kit. "I have everything here." She gestured as Graham continued to stare, ignoring her.

"There you go." Priya finished tying the bandage neatly and put the roll away.

"Why are you doing this, Priya?" Graham murmured, staring at the floor.

"You need looking after. You're running Joe's business..." she stood up as Graham fixed a glare on her, "Kim's business now."

Graham bit back a snide comment.

"Hmm." He grunted, "lots to tell her, I suppose."

Priya swept her hair back and put on her jacket.

"Actually I haven't told her anything..."

"So keeping us both sweet?" Graham surmised, "how predictable and astute you are."

"No. Nothing like that. I don't have her contact details and even if I did, I wouldn't tell her. Because I think you need help." She paused, "look, losing Joe, it was bound to take its toll. But you can't blame yourself."

"I think you've done enough for one day, don't you?" Graham growled, standing also, threateningly.

"I know he was like a son to you..."

"Time to go, Priya." Graham cut her off, backing her out of the lounge, a wreck in his loosened shirt with the open collar and unbuttoned waistcoat.

"Right." Priya sensed his hostility and sudden change in mood, "well, I'll come back on Boxing Day as we agreed."

"That won't be necessary." urred, grabbing at the door handle to open it. "But don't worry, I'll ensure that Kim knows how diligent and supportive you've been." He added sarcastically.

"If you need anything, I'm just in Holdgate." She advised, straightening herself up, "but I think that's everything."

"Good." Graham flashed her a false smile, "until we meet again, Priya."

"Hmm." Priya tilted her head, "take care, won't you?'

"I will. I will take good care. Or bad care. You'd better get home to your family."

Priya offered an awkward smile in response and left the house, Graham storming back into the lounge to open another bottle of whisky.

As she reached her car her hand automatically dropped to her pocket, noticing the absence of a weight there.

Keys.

She oscillated slowly and faced the house, swallowing. She needed to go back inside, but something about Graham's manner warned her against it.

Casting her aspersions aside, she re entered the house.

"Time flies when you're having fun." Graham remarked sourly as he noticed her in the hall.

"I forgot my keys. I'm sorry."

Graham spotted them on the coffee table and picked them up, stumbling toward Priya.

"Your keys, madam." He bowed his head.

"Thank you." She hesitated, "Graham, there must be someone I can call to help you." She suggested, observing his haggard appearance.

"No one left who cares." He swung his arms.

"I care." Priya reminded him, "I just can't stand to see you like this. It isn't right."

"It is what it is." Graham slurred, turning away only to trip and stumble on the corner of the table.

"No, Graham, it isn't." Priya caught him. "Sit down."

Reluctantly, Graham allowed her to guide him to the sofa.

She sat next to him.

"Graham, this has to stop." Priya emphasised.

"Why? Why does it?" He reached for the bottle but Priya brought his hand away from it. He turned to look at her.

"I wanted that." He raised his eyebrows.

"You shouldn't drink any more." Priya warned him sharply, "whatever happened with Joe, do you think he would approve if he saw you like this?"

Graham considered.

"Joe isn't here."

"But this is Kim's house now and you're meant to be taking care of it."

"I am. In my own way." Graham lunged for the bottle. "Drink?"

"No, Graham, that's enough." Priya grabbed his hand. The touch sparked something in his muddled state and he moved to kiss her.

"Graham! What are you doing?" She pulled away, stunned.

"I'm sorry." He retracted, sobering from the moment. "I am sorry, Priya."

"I need to go." She snatched up her keys and made for the door.

Graham stared after her, disgusted at himself and shattered the bottle against the coffee table.


	8. The Spirit at My Elbow

"That was rather pathetic," said a familiar voice. Graham turned to see Joe standing in the doorway, smiling as if he'd never been away.

"Joe," Graham said breathlessly. He put the whisky bottle down.

"Did you really think Priya would be interested in you? You're old enough to be her..." Joe paused. "I was going to say father but you don't have a great track record in that department, do you?"

"Why are you here?" Graham asked.

"It's Christmas," Joe said, as if that explained everything. He strolled over and poured himself a drink. "You know I've always loved Christmas. It was the only time my father ever paid any attention to me. He always hated it of course, because of the plane crash, but he made the effort for me. Have I told you about the year he got me a train set and we played with it all day?"

"What do you want?" Graham specified. He wished his glass wasn't empty.

"What do I want? I wanted a father who wouldn't ignore me while he was busy whoring. A mother who wasn't murdered before I could even remember her. And a replacement father who wouldn't kill me because some woman asked him to. Guess I'm just unlucky, huh?" Joe chuckled.

"I didn't kill you, Joe."

"You would have done, though. All Kim had to say was jump, and you were desperate to do her bidding. Admit it, you were relieved when Cain threw that punch. You couldn't throw me in the boot of your car fast enough. Must have been a bummer when you realised I wasn't dead enough."

"Kim was threatening to have you tortured. If you'd just stayed away..."

"You could have called the police. We could have dealt with her together, but you were ready to shoot me."

"I thought about it, but I couldn't go through with it. You're like a son to me. You mean more than Kim, more than anyone."

"I'm touched." Joe took a swig of whisky. "You didn't seem that sentimental when you were beating me up."

"You know that was the drink." Graham looked away.

"Or maybe this is the drink talking, now. What does it matter, it's too late. If I were Kim I'd be worried, everyone close to you dies. That's something we have in common."

"You're not dead."

"Yet here I am, the Ghost Of Christmas past." Joe spread his arms. "Face it Graham, if I was getting better you'd have heard by now."

"I tried to save you-"

"By dumping me with your soldier mates? Letting Cain think he killed me? Sending Jean away? And this..." Joe gestured around him. "This is supposed to help me? If you really cared you'd be telling Kim where to get off, not wallowing in it like this. Don't kid yourself that this is about me, this is who you've always been. 'Poor me, poor me, pour me another drink'. What did I ever see in you?"

"Just shut up!" Losing control, Graham grabbed the whisky bottle and hurled it at Joe. The bottle sailed at the mantlepiece, crashing against the photo of Joe and his parents. There was the sound of smashing glass, followed by a thump as the bottle fell to the carpet. The photograph toppled to the floor as well, landing face up, a crack across the baby Joseph. Graham looked around for the present Joe but there was nobody there.


	9. A House With Love in It

Priya arrived back at Holdgate to a warm welcome from the other members of the Sharma household, who insisted on her joining in their festivities.

The children, Amba and Eliza were enjoying a game together with "Uncle Jai" as Rishi, Manpreet, Megan and Frank swapped gossip and sipped cocktails in the background as Frank Sinatra crooned to old favourites.

"Everything alright, sis?" Jai asked, standing up to greet his sister.

"Fine, I'll um...just go up and get changed." She told him, nudging past to get to the stairs.

"Pree, you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm okay. Just tired."

"Has he been drinking again?" Jai asked urgently, catching Priya's arms, his eyes full of concern. "What's he done?"

"Nothing. Graham's fine. Drunk. But fine."

"I don't think its a good idea, you working up there with him in that state. What if he turns on you?" Jai persisted.

"I'll be fine. He's just lonely."

"Yeah; I know what his type get like when they're lonely, trust me. You are not getting involved in *that*."

"I'm a grown woman, Jai. I'm not your kid sister anymore. Just let me deal with it."

"Pree! Come on!" Jai groaned, as Priya stomped upstairs.

"What is going on?" Demanded his father, appearing next to him.

"Its Graham." Jai grit his teeth.

"That drunken lout?" Rishi replied, bordering on incredulous.

"Priya works for him, doesn't she?" He gestured, "apparently he's still on the bottle."

"Good God, he's lucky he doesn't kill himself." Rishi emphasised, "but what has that to do with Priya?"

"Well she's just come from Home Farm, hasn't she?" Jai reasoned, "he was obviously in a bad way and its made her upset."

"She's a very caring person, your sister."

"Yes, I just hope he don't take advantage of it." Jai admitted darkly.

"You think he would?" Rishi's eyes widened, giving him a gormless look.

"I dunno." Jai rubbed his face, "I mean I didn't know half of what I was doing when I was off my face."

"That was a long time ago now." His father assured him, "you are a changed man. You got better."

"But if he can fall off the wagon like that, it doesn't leave much hope for the rest of us, does it?" Jai hung his head.

"You're a good man, Jai. You take care of your sister."  
Rishi offered a supportive slap against his son's back.

"Thanks Dad."

Behind them, Priya had descended the stairs, dressed to the nines in a new designer outfit.

"Priya!" Rishi exclaimed, "my daughter. You look lovely." Rishi kissed her cheek.

"She's not getting married, Dad." Jai chuckled.

"No, but she looks like her mother." Rishi acknowledged with a smile, "Jai tells me you are still working for the man at Home Farm?'

"Yes." Priya looked at her brother suspiciously.

"My darling, I..."

"Look, this is the first good job I have had and regardless of what anyone thinks, I love working there. He's a good boss, admittedly better when he's sober, but even so, I get paid well and when Kim comes out of prison it will change. She's already promised that I can keep my job."

"Well that's good news, then, isn't it?" Rishi replied warily, glancing at the other guests. "I think I should um...get some cocktail sticks."

He wandered off, leaving Jai and Priya alone.

"Pree..."

"Don't say a word. Lets just, enjoy Christmas." She suggested firmly, crouching down next to Amba as Jai looked on, helpless to argue.


	10. The Girl on the Bench

"S'pose I should find her, really?" Faith mused, leaning up to scan the pub for Jean.

"That sounds like a very good idea." Eric agreed, as Faith pushed her chair back, legs scraping on the floor and left the pub, squinting in the dark for Jean.

She tottered across the road and spotted a dark haired figure sitting on the bench beyond the telephone box on the strip of grass where a proud tree shaded guests under a plume of leafy branches.

"Jean!" She called out and the figure turned its head sharply away. Faith, having found her, approached the bench.

"Thought I'd find you here."

"No you didn't." Jean retorted, "you made a clever assumption based on deduction of the most likely places."

"Hark at you, eh? Little Sherlock Holmes?" Faith chortled, sitting down next to her, "now, I know that weren't very nice, what happened in there..."

"No. Its not nice to be judged on a name. People think that they know me. Know him!" Jean snapped, tears stinging her eyes, "but they don't. They don't know us!"

"Eh, come on now." Faith consoled her kindly, "I'll give yer one thing, yer can 'old yer own!"

"Makes no difference, though, does it?" Jean sniffed, "they just think we're trouble."

"After what happened with him and our Debbie, I s'pose it 'as tainted things as much, yes."

"But I'm not Joe." She broke down, sobbing, "I just want to see him."

"Course yer do. Eh," Faith put her arm around her and pulled her close. There was a lot of truth in the girl's words. It wasn't her fault that she was part of the same family and all things detached, she was just a lonely little girl in a foreign country. Sympathy tugged at her heart. "Its a brave thing, travellin' all this way. Hard on the nerves too, I'll bet."

Jean nodded, grateful for Faith's kindness.

"Thought so. What you need is a nice hot water bottle, my best hot chocolate and a good sleep. Everythin' will look better tomorrow." She assured Jean.

"Tomorrow is Christmas."

"Yes it is. Which means its even more important for you to get enough sleep to enjoy it."

Jean sat up, rubbing her eyes.

"Joe and I used to stay up until midnight." She admitted, "he used to pretend to be asleep and open everything before anyone got up." She smiled wistfully, "I brought him a present."

"What did you get him?" Faith questioned, careful to edit out her own comment that Joe didn't really need anything.

"Brought him a photo of us three." Jean explained, "he doesn't have one at the house."

"Nice thought." Faith agreed carefully, "I suppose he couldn't bring everything with him to the village."

"No. He wouldn't be able to show it anyway. Its Kim's house now, apparently."

"Oh yes."

"You've seen Kim?"

"Briefly. Didn't speak to her much. More of a push and pull conversation, really."

"Oh." Jean looked crestfallen, "but Joe? You've seen him?"

"Not recently, pet. But I have seen him, yes."

"He wouldn't run away." Jean stated, "he just wouldn't."

"In that case, he'll come back, won't he?" Faith suggested, keeping her temper.

"Yes. He will."

"But now, Miss? I think its time that we got home and settled ourselves, eh?"

Faith stood up, groaning at her creaking limbs.

"Never get old." She grumbled.

"I already am." Jean grinned. Faith linked her arm through the young girl's and led her back to the pub.

"So, homeward bound, Mr Pollard." Faith announced.

"Righto. See you on the 27th, Rodney."

"I shall indeed!" Rodney called back enthusiastically.

"Goodnight all."

"Night, Eric!" Chas replied as Eric, Faith and Jean left the pub. It wasn't a long walk back to the barn conversion that Faith and Eric had made their home and Jean was glad of it.


	11. Merry Christmas Everyone Part I

_Christmas Day_

Jean awoke in warmth and contentment in the spare room at Eric and Faith's, the ceiling stretching high above her. It was so much more comforting than a stuffy little cottage. Their home in New Zealand was a villa, complete with a pool and ample grounds, or rather woodland.

It was idealistic, away from the hustle and bustle of the towns and although Joe was resistant to it at first, he had learnt to love it as much as Jean.

However that had all changed when Lara arrived. She was a nurse in the veterinary practice that Zoe had set up, specialising in equestrian medicine. Zoe had come home one evening, Lara with her. It was unsurprising to young Jean, Zoe had always been upfront with her about her sexuality and how a fling with Scott had resulted in Jean's birth. There was no pretence, unlike the rest of the family, Zoe had seen fit to be honest and was very affectionate with them.

Jean climbed out of bed and tugged the curtains wide. Bright, yet crisp, a perfect winter's morning. Nearby a cottage was smoking from its chimney. It looked so homely that Jean got a sudden yearning to return to New Zealand. Twisting her body, she grabbed her case and hauled it onto the bed, unzipping the contents.

Enough jeans and tshirts to last her through a few days, a photo of them all at Lone View, Joe looking uncannily like his dad, Zoe's arms right around Jean as they all smiled happily.

September 2013. It had been hot, she remembered that day. Then a few days later, Zoe had found Lara in bed with Joe. His 'rite of passage' he declared.

Jean had been shocked. Lara seemed so devoted to Zoe but there was something about her cousin, his chiselled face, big eyes and misleading smile that sent all the women around cooing and flocking to him.  
But he had crossed Zoe once too often.

Banished. Exiled. Jean recalled him saying in an email.

Sorry kiddo. Really messed up. Back at school now. Come and visit me soon. Joe x

That had been his last message. Until she'd found the deleted emails in Zoe's inbox. Mother and daughter had come to blows and Jean had said some terrible things.

Now she was here. Thousands of miles from home in a sleepy Dales village.

"Good morning lovie!" Faith danced up the stairs to her door, "are you awake? Breakfast in five minutes!"

"I'll be there." Jean murmured half heartedly, setting the photo next to the bed and wandered downstairs in Faith's dressing gown over her own novelty pyjamas to find Eric sitting in the lounge.

"Well good morning, young lady. Merry Christmas." He greeted her. The tree nearby was abundant with colour and decoration, yet only a few presents grazed the bottom of it.

"Ah, I'm afraid we weren't expecting guests." Eric began awkwardly, catching Jean's glance to the tree.

"Oh no! I wasn't..."

"Morning, lovie, how are we doing on this fabulous Christmas? Eh?" Faith bustled in, wearing tinsel around her beehive and a flashing Christmas tree brooch.

"Fine. Thanks."

"Good, well that'll do for now. Later on we'll go on up to Wishin' Well and join em all for dinner." She added decisively, "but first, breakfast? What can I get yer?"

"Er, Faith." Eric interrupted with a chortle, "have you cleared that with Cain and..."

"Ey, listen, I'm his mother. He'll do as he's told." She retorted sharply, awaiting Jean's breakfast order.

"Just toast thank you."

"No egg? Soldiers? Bacon straight off t'farm?"

"I'm fine. Thanks."

"Well, please yerself." Faith replied, resigned. "we'll be headin up to Wishin' Well around eleven."

"What about you, Mr Pollard? Will you be coming?" Jean asked.

"Good heavens, no! No, I will drive to see...my family." He explained, suddenly interested in his newspaper.

Around ten to eleven, after a plentiful breakfast provided by Faith and an exchange of gifts, Jean prepared to leave with Faith for the Dingle cottage. Eric had set a Christmas compilation playing on the stereo of all his old favourites, Nat, Bing and Frank with Deano and Sammy which wafted out of the door as they made their way to the tumbledown building next door.

It was positively freezing, Jean thought as she trudged along in the snow capped mud, wrapped up in a smart expensive jumper that Zoe had bought for her and her best jeans with a necklace that had once belonged to Granny Tate, her hair dark and loose about her face.

Faith had lent her her faux fur jacket with a hood and she arrived at the front door of the cottage, a gorgeous scent of cinnamon, vegetables and chestnuts filling the air.

"Only us, love!" Faith announced, lifting the latch to enter. Jean stared in awe. It was like a scene from a Christmas card, all flagstone floor, garish crochet covers over worn armchairs, a blazing fire in the huge grate, decorations hanging from the slanted ceiling, every surface cluttered with novelties and in the midst of it all, a large table covered in a green PVC Santa and Sleigh print cover almost obscured beneath a multitude of mismatched plates and crockery. Equally mismatched were the chairs around it, all different shapes and sizes.

"Mother, good to see yer." Cain kissed her cheek as Moira offered her a warm hug.

"Yer comin' in then?" Jean was snapped out of her daze by a blonde boy of about fourteen. He had a very familiar face.

"Yeah. Thanks." Jean nodded, agog.

"Take yer jacket, then?" Noah held out his hands for it. Jean passed it to him absent mindedly, shuffling into the cottage.

"Oh 'ello, you must be Jean. Faith said you were comin'." A friendly faced woman with kind eyes approached, "you alright? Get yerself settled down. Noah, get her a chair, there's a good lad." She paused, "oh and I'm Lydia." She added breezily, before heading back into the kitchen where Faith was deep in conversation with Cain.

"Mother, yer can't seriously bring her here on Christmas Day? What will Debbie say?"

"Well I'm not shoving my hand up a turkey today and Eric's gone off to see his nearest and dearest."

"So yer thought yer'd just bring her here? She's a flippin' Tate!"

"Ssh! Cain!" Moira reprimanded, slapping his arm.

"Y'alright?" Noah asked kindly, brow creased as he sat down next to Jean at the table.

"Hmm." Jean offered a weak smile.

"Don't mind Cain. He's known as Grumpy."

"Thanks."

"So, who are yer?" Noah shrugged.

"Jean...Tate."

Noah stared at her.

"You're a Tate? Like Joe? Like...me...well, I'm Tate Dingle but according to Kim that's the worst thing to be."

"You know Kim?" Jean gaped at him.

"Yeah, I know her." Noah boggled at her, "what?"

"I haven't met her but I've heard...things..."

"Yeah. You would've. Wait, have you come back cos of Joe?" His manner turned urgent, "look I need to know? Is he okay? Graham won't tell me owt."

Jean shook her head.

"No, I came back to see him too."

"Then he in't gone back to New Zealand? To be with his Aunt?"

"That's my mother." Jean clarified. "We're all cousins. Kind of."

A spark of hope lit in Noah's eyes.

"So you're actually Joe's cousin. My cousin."

"Gets complicated." Jean returned easily with a laugh, "I'm a Windsor too. My dad was Scott Windsor."

"Marlon's wife were called Donna. Pretty sure she were a Windsor too. Anyhow, they'll be here too. Soon."

"They?"

"Marlon and his daughter. April?" Noah informed her helpfully, "along wi' my Mum, Chas, Jack, Sarah, Moses...That's Kyle and Isaac, Grumpy's kids..." he gestured to a toddler in a highchair and a dark haired boy playing with a train, "then there's Faith, course, Lydia, Sam, Samson, Belle...and Ryan. Me Mum only found out about him recently."

"Oh, big family then?" Jean grinned.

"Tell me about it." He smiled in a way that reminded Jean of Joe.

"So you're Joe's half brother."

"Yeah."

"You're alike." She admitted, "you look like Uncle Chris."

"Really?" Noah seemed stunned. "But I'm like, half."

"You've got the same dad. Obvs." Jean rolled her eyes.

"Yeah. Don't know much bout him though. I mean, Joe told me stuff but its not like knowing him, is it?"

"Yeah. I'm sorry. I..."

"You gonna spend all yer time gassin before yer gimme an 'ug?" Charity demanded of her son, who obediently hugged her, allowing a view of Jean.

"What's she doin' ere?" Her eyes flashed with anger.

"That were my doing, Charity. She in't got nowhere else to go." Faith explained.

"And we're not in t'habit of turning anyone away at Christmas." Lydia added. "She's welcome here, like everyone else."

Charity gawked.

"Er, do you know who she is?"

"Charity, probably best to leave it, eh?" Moira asked, sensing Charity's hostility.

"She's the spawn of Zoe Tate and who knows, yer letting her sit down here like she's one of us!"

She glared around at everyone.

"Am I the only one who sees a problem wi'that?" Charity spread her arms wide, aghast.

"Looks like it." Moira replied patiently.

"I can go." Jean offered, standing up.

"You'll do no such thing. Sit down." Faith instructed firmly, pointing her down.

Jean glanced at Noah, who suddenly jumped up.

"No, yer can't send Jean away. She int done owt!" He protested, "Mum, yer can't just turn her away cos she's a Tate! I mean, I'm Tate, in't I?"

"Babe, its not the same?" Charity attempted to pacify him as he backed up close to Jean.

"Yeah it is. You're always slaggin' me Dad off. Joe never did that. He were honest."

"No, Noah. Look at what he did to Debs, eh? He left you and 'er behind without a word."

"Only because Kim came back!" Noah's face had flushed red, his temper flaring.

"No, Noah. He made the choice to leave. He's not coming back. Yer better off forgettin' him."

"Graham said that." Noah answered promptly, "but he'll come back, he will!"

"Babe, if she's come back and dunt have a clue, what makes yer think you're gonna find him?"

"Dunno." Noah shrugged, "but I still love him. He's me brother."

"I know." Charity's anger lessened in the face of seeing Noah so upset.

"No yer don't. Cos yer never wanted me to see him."

"And this is why! He ruins lives. Like his..."

Noah scowled at her.

"I'm goin out. Come on, Jean." He added and handed her the jacket she had brought in with her. She followed behind obediently, tracing his steps as he kicked every object he could reach on route to the barn.


	12. A Union of the Soul

_Christmas Day_

Graham sat alone in the empty church, looking up at the memorial to the previous vicar. The morning was surprisingly bright, sunlight was coming in through the windows. He wasn't sure what had brought him here, he had just needed to get out of Home Farm and this place had seemed peaceful, inviting.

"Graham?" said a voice behind him. It was Harriet, smiling politely, not quite managing to hide her shock at his bedraggled appearance.

"Hello," said Graham, clearing his throat, turning back to Ashley's memorial.

"You're either early for this morning's service, or late for midnight mass," said Harriet lightly.

"I'm not here for the service."

"I don't think I've seen you in here before." Harriet sat down next to him.

"I'm not really a believer."

Harriet nodded understandingly. "Christmas brings a lot of people here who wouldn't normally come."

Graham smiled bitterly. "Not really a fan of Christmas, either."

"Then why are you here?" When Graham didn't answer, Harriet leaned forwards. "Is it Joe?" Graham looked at her, startled. "I heard he left the village. You must miss him."

Graham nodded. "He was like a son to me."

Harriet frowned at the past tense. "Can't you call him? I'm sure he would want to speak to you today."

"Not where he is." It was true, he couldn't risk contacting the hospital. For all he knew Kim was having him watched.

"I'm surprised he left, with Sarah and everything."

"He didn't have a choice." Graham felt the need to defend Joe. "It was Kim."

"That's Joe's step-mother, right?"

"Step-grandmother," Graham corrected.

"I did hear something about her owning Home Farm. But why would she evict him and not you?" Graham just looked at her. Something in his expression must have given him away, as Harriet said quickly, "Oh. Are you and her..."

Graham didn't see the point in denying it. "That's how I first met Joe. She asked me to keep an eye on him. Got me a job at Joe's school."

"But why?" Harriet asked reasonably. Graham looked at her. Part of him desperately wanted to unburden himself.

"Are we speaking in confidence here?"

"Of course," said Harriet. "Unless you count Him." She pointed upwards.

"Never underestimate the Tate ability to hold a grudge." Graham leaned in towards Harriet. He wondered if he was still a little drunk from last night. "Kim wanted me to kill him."

Harriet's eyes widened. "Who? Joe?"

Graham nodded. "If I didn't do it, she was going to get someone else to. Guy called Vincent."

"Not Vincent Sinclair?" Harriet sounded appalled, her vicarly sympathy gone. "Sadist for hire?"

"That's the one."

"Graham, what happened?" Harriet asked urgently. "Where is Joe?"

Graham knew he had said too much. It had been a bad idea, coming here. How could he have forgotten he was talking to an ex-police officer?

"He's somewhere Kim can't get to him," he said, stumbling to his feet. "I've got to go."

"Graham, wait. I still have contacts on the force. If you need me to speak to someone..."

Graham nearly laughed. "Sorry Harriet, but I don't trust the police."

His tone made it clear that included her. He walked unsteadily down the aisle, leaving the vicar staring helplessly after him.


	13. The Confidence to Say

"Noah!" Jean called desperately, reaching the barn which was lit with lights. From the back, exempt from the hair, he was a younger Joe; same stance, pace, same side profile.

"Noah." She sighed, spotting him on one of the haystacks.

"She dunt get it." He was crying, tear tracks shimmering on his cheeks, "we were proper brothers. He told me things...never told anyone."

"I don't doubt it." Jean shuffled her foot along the floor before climbing up to sit next to him on the haystack. "I miss him too. He's like my big brother. He looked out for me."

"See, you get it." Noah agreed, "they don't. Just because he did some stuff when he came here..."

"Oh yeah? What did he do?" Jean leaned in confidentially, eyebrows raised so that her resemblance to Joe was uncanny.

"Just stuff. He pretended to Debbie he were called Tom Waterhouse."

Jean laughed.

"Why's that funny?" Noah asked, puzzled.

"Need to show you something at Home Farm...sometime." Jean suggested.

"Why?"

"Because everything will make sense. Trust me."

Noah chuckled.

"Yer askin me to trust yer?" His raised his own pale blonde eyebrows with a cute smile.

"Yeah. I am." Jean pouted, "why? Problem?"

"Well, not exactly summat we do, is it?"

"You're a Tate, Noah. Whatever people think. We stick together." She assured him kindly.

"Thanks. I think."

"Hey!" Jean punched him playfully, "look, I'm not giving up on Joe either. He will come back."

"Yeah. Yer right. He will."

"But it won't be immediate. I mean, Graham..."

"You've met him too?" Noah seemed surprised, "was he...okay?"

"He was drunk if that's what you mean." Jean explauned, remembering his haggard, stricken face.

"He usually is now." Noah muttered sadly, "I tried to speak to him."

"About Joe?"

"Yeah. He gave me some cuff things. Showed me how to put em on. Next thing, he's drinking. Like, really bad. Mum said I weren't to visit him any more."

"Maybe I should go back to Home Farm. Try again?" She mused.

Noah shrugged.

"Graham must know something, have something that can tell us where Joe is?"

"He's like ex SAS, he's not gonna leave stuff lying around." Noah reminded her lightly.

"Is he? Who else works there?"

"Priya, but Nicola does some stuff too. She's like his assistant or summat, I dunno."

"So the house is open, right?" Jean's eyes glinted.

"Yeah. So what? Yer can't just walk in. Graham'll throw you out?"

"There's bound to be another way?" Jean asked, "another door besides the front one?"

"Well yeah. There's the one for the office but..."

"What about windows?"

"Yer actually gonna break in?" Noah's eyes widened and his brow creased.

"Yep."

"But yer mad! What if Graham catches yer?" Noah warned urgently, realising that Jean had the same reckless nature as Joe.

"Well, he's hardly gonna beat me up, is he?" Jean rolled her eyes.

"You don't know him. I mean, he wouldn't hurt yer, but..."

"He'll do that look of his." Jean sighed, smirking.

"Yer don't know what yer doin. Yer mad." Noah warned.

"Its the only way. I'm sorry Noah." Jean leaned toward him sympathetically.

"Yer alright." Noah told her, doing his best to keep his composure, "He's t'closest thing I've got to a dad. I like talkin' to him. When he and Joe were up there...it were like home."

"So Kim made you move out?"

"Yeah. Said it were her place. But it can't be, right? Joe bought it?" He looked at Jean hopefully.

"I don't know. But Kim doesn't scare me." Jean stated with resilience.

"Yer say that. Til yer meet her." Noah advised, "She's nasty."

"Believe me, I'm my mother's daughter." Jean slid off the bale, "shall we go back in? I'm starving?"

Noah nodded, smiling at her.

"Okay."

Together they returned to the cottage where most of the guests had arrived and the CD player was thumping out "Merry Xmas Everybody" by Slade.


	14. The Enemy Within

_Christmas Day, Midday, Home Farm_

It was the middle of the day and Graham had just about sobered up. He let himself back into Home Farm, looking wearily at the empty kitchen table. All around the village, families would be sitting down for Christmas dinner.

He poured himself a glass of water and sat at the table. Then he got his phone out and listened to the last message Joe had left him, saying he loved him. He needed strength for the conversation he was about to have with Kim.

Taking a gulp of water to steady his nerves, he scrolled through the contacts, pressing Kim's number. He only hoped that she would have the sense to keep the phone discreet.

"Kim? It's me."

"Merry Christmas." Kim sounded half-amused, half-suspicious. "Wasn't expecting to hear from you today."

"No, well..." Graham rubbed his head, "I thought I'd see how you were doing."

"I'm in prison, Graham. Or have you forgotten?" Kim replied wryly, sighing.

"No. Of course I haven't." There was an awkward pause as he attempted to get his thoughts into a coherent pattern, "I have checked the records for James, nothing yet, but I will find him."

"I know you will." It sounded more like a threat than a reassurance. "So... you called just to tell me there's no news?"

"No...I confess that I have not been at my best recently. As such, the haulage shares were almost lost." He paused, it felt more like a confession than anything else. "To Robert Sugden. Home James Haulage."

"Robert Sugden?" Kim checked her surroundings as she pressed the phone to her ear. "I'd have thought you'd be more than a match for a farmer's son."

"They caught me...unawares. I was not in a...fit state." He admitted, almost able to see Kim's expression falter. "I have kept the house intact, of course and I have an executive assistant in the form of Nicola King, however I have...struggled."

He knew not to expect sympathy, but it felt so good to be able to release the burden.

In her cell, Kim rolled her eyes. She attempted to inject some sympathy into her voice.

"I know it must be hard on your own, but I'll be out soon, and we can be together. Hopefully with James too, if you ever find him." She paused. "Is this about Joe?"

Graham couldnt disguise it.

He sighed heavily.

"Yes. Sooner or later Zoe will turn up, she will have questions. The questions that you need me to avoid. I'm not sure I can."

"I'm sure you'll manage to set her mind at rest. I'm counting on you to do so." She paused, "anything else? Now Joe's out of the way, we can concentrate on..."

"Jean."

"Jean?" Kim repeated sharply. She had a bad feeling at the mention of that name. "I take it you don't mean Frank's first wife?"

"No." Graham berated himself for mentioning the girl. If Kim considered her a threat as she had done so with Joe, Jean could be in danger.

"Zoe is still in New Zealand, I've explained...what I can to her. She was upset, of course."

"Oh, well Zoe was always highly strung. Or she should have been." Kim mused, examining a fingernail. "What is the significance of this, Graham? Why are you telling me about her? Perhaps I should have made myself clear about where I stand on any of the spoiled little brats?"

"Jean has been in contact with questions about Joe..."

Kim rolled her eyes, sighing deeply.

"From New Zealand. That's dedication." Kim returned sarcastically.

"No...not exactly."

Whilst Graham knew that to tell Kim the truth would put Jean in danger, he was also aware that it was the only way to keep her safe. By allowing Kim to pull him into her scheme, she had given him the means to ensure that they were protected.

"Jean has visited the house." He explained, "I turned her away."

That was true enough.

"What?"

"She came to visit Joe, wanted to surprise him." Graham explained casually, "she was quite outspoken when I told her to leave."

"She flew all the way from the other side of the world to surprise her cousin? Hasn't she heard of modern technology?" Kim could hardly believe Graham's naivety. "Didn't you even try to find out what she really wanted? Were you drinking by any chance?"

Graham bit his tongue.

"I had had a drop, yes." He paused, "Joe must have changed his phone number when he left New Zealand." He reasoned, hoping to improve the situation.  
"She came here to surprise her cousin. I don't see that there is anything wrong in that."

"And where is she now? Still in the village?" Kim tightened her grip on the phone. "Tell me she's on a flight home, Graham."

"She is still in the village. Staying with Eric Pollard and his...partner, Faith. I promise you, Kim, she is not here to cause trouble."

"She won't be able to help it if she's like her mother." Kim could barely contain her fury. She had just eliminated a problem in Joe and now another one of Frank's grandspawn had to show up, like another weed ripe for the plucking. "I need this taken care of."

"Kim..." Graham started, a tightening growing at his throat, "I don't believe for one minute that she would deliberately set out to make trouble and yes, I know how you feel about Zoe. But this is not Zoe, this is her daughter."

"And she's just a child, I know." Kim took a deep breath to calm herself. Knowing Graham, he probably saw the brat as a little surrogate daughter. "I'm not suggesting any harm should come to her. I'm suggesting you talk to her, put her mind at rest about Joe and send her on her way." For good, she added silently.

"I see. Well, after the reception I offered when she arrived I doubt she will return in a hurry. I just hope that I can convince her to leave."

"You'll think of something." Kim could hear one of her cellmates approaching. "I'd better go, it's nearly time for charades."

"There's a first for everything it seems," Graham commented wryly, "I'll leave you to enjoy that. I have a present for you, I can give it to you on your release. Now, don't worry about Jean. I will talk to her."

"You'd better. And Graham..." Kim's voice softened slightly. " Keep me informed on James, won't you?"

"I will. We will find him, Kim." He assured her, "whatever it takes. I will find him."  
He managed to strengthen his tone so that it no longer sounded slurred or disorientated. One glass of water was not going to improve the plethora of alcohol that he had induced earlier on in the day. "Merry Christmas, Kim."

"Merry Christmas, Graham." Kim added something quieter that sounded like "I love you", then ended the call.

Graham switched off the call, staring at the doors directly in front. He knew that Kim was unlikely to settle for Jean being booked on a flight home to New Zealand. If she proved that she was just like Joe in any way shape or form, there would be severe consequences.

Yet she hadn't seemed like a deliberate troublemaker during their short encounter. She had wanted to know where Joe was, of course, it was only natural and reflecting, her words rang true.  
Yet the thing that perturbed him most was her insistence that he was lying. She could see through his drunken stupor. He would not allow that to influenve him again on their next meeting. He would have to be as he was with Noah. Firm, stern, but sympathetic.

If she refused to accept it, then he would have to find a way to convince her.  
He grabbed the bottle of water, poured it and gulped it back as easily as if it were whisky. Time to refresh.


	15. Merry Christmas Everyone Part II

"Ey, where yer've been?" Zak demanded, "were that worried, like!" He doffed his cap.

"We were chattin. In the barn," Noah explained quickly.

"Oh aye? Whose this?" He gestured at Jean, "new friend is it, eh, lad?" He winked.

"Its Jean Tate." Charity clarified, eyebrows quirked as she poured drinks for the kids.

Zak glanced back at Charity and then at Jean, before continuing.

"Aye, right well, wouldn't have thought this would be quite your sort o'gatherin, not in comparison to thems grand balls and soirees up at 'Ome Farm."

"Oh gi'over, they in't that posh." Chas cut him off abruptly, "so, yer joinin us, then?"

Jean hesitated.

"If you don't mind." She replied, much to their amusement.

"Grab a seat, ere, love." Lydia patted the empty seat between hers and Samson's.

"S'alright." Noah, seeing a stool, offered his original seat to Jean, who looked temporarily surprised before settling on a smile.

"Thank you." She mouthed at him.

"Right! Crackers!" Faith grasped hers greedily, linking into a chain with everyone else around the table. "Three. Two. One!"

There were bangs galore as the crackers snapped and sizzled and victories were claimed. Jean looked across the table at Faith who put up a thumb at her for assurance.

The hours flew by as gifts were exchanged at the table before a hearty three course meal. Pigs in blankets, crackling, pork loin and all the trimmings, goose, a magnificent juicy gravy and then to finish it all a truly magical flaming Christmas pudding covered in brandy cream.

It was utterly decadent. Surprising really, Jean thought, as the last scraps were swept from plates and some sneaky pieces fell into Monty's bowl by the door. For the little they so obviously had, they made the most of it.

Even the wild looking tree in the corner adorned with handmade decorations and motifs lent itself to the general mood. It wasn't polished like the one she vaguely remembered glittering golden in the hall at Home Farm, or the fake one Zoe had bought on their first Christmas in New Zealand, but it was charming in its own way. Also, she reprimanded herself, she was not a snob.

"Missin 'ome?" Asked Noah, coming to stand beside her.

"I'd be lying if I wasn't." Jean leant against the arm of the chair.

"Look, what me Mum said, she were out of order. I don't think that o'you. I mean you and me, right, we gotta stick together. Find Joe. Bring him back. Just so he can explain."

Jean gazed at the shiny baubles.

"Yeah. But I'm too old for wishing."

"So am I." Noah laughed it off. "Come on, selfie?"

Jean nodded, touched by Noah's kindness and sincerity.

"Right, come on you two. Just had a text from Eric. He's gonna be up at David's for the day, wi' Leyla and Jacob, so looks like you're stuck with us." Faith advised, putting her arms around both of them.

"Cool." Noah replied.

"So, whose for...PARTY GAMES?" Faith announced loudly, entangling them both in tinsel.

"Aw, do we 'ave ter?" Cain groaned like a surly schoolboy.

"Course yer do, my lad. I'm yer mother, its Christmas and you'll do as yer told!" Faith retorted, turning up the CD. Wizzard had just finished their classic and Feliz Navidad was playing.

"Can't even translate t'words!" Charity grumbled, playing Hungry Hippos with Moses and Kyle.

"Reminds me o' Torremelinos," Faith sighed dreamily, "I were there, lovely young waiter, ooh he were gorgeous..." she started and Moira tactfully covered Isaac's ears.

"Whilst they're being all weird, take a look at these." Noah drew Jean's attention back by flashing something gold in front of her eyes. Her vision focused and she saw that they were cufflinks.

"Noah? Why did you bring those along? Does your Mum know you've got them?"

"No. Doubt it. But I just think, yer know, if Joe wore these, then he's kinda still here." He looked around.

"You secret sentimental." Jean giggled, "but no, I agree. Joe is still here. We're gonna find him." She squeezed his shoulder, recognising that he was the closest family and ally that she had in the village.


	16. Breaking the Ice

_Christmas Day, Afternoon_

Jean stole around the back of Home Farm, glancing over her shoulder. There was nobody in sight. It had been easy enough to steal away from the party, the Dingles had reverted to playing drinking games and the children had been herded over to Tall Trees with Marlon. Noah had allowed her to borrow his bike to ride to Home Farm, but it was hardgoing to say the least. She pushed the bike into the bushes at the entrance to the house and stealthily crept around the side into the courtyard. There was a car outside, but that didn't necessarily mean Graham was there. It was unlikely that anyone else would be visiting today with Graham's attitude. She tried a couple of windows at the back of the house until one slid open, its latch loose. Reasoning that Joe wouldn't mind her sneaking in if he was here, she squeezed through the small gap, dropping to the floor, and found herself in a room that looked like an office.

Going to the desk, she carefully rolled out the drawers and attempted to access the computer, but it was password protected. She turned her attention to the drawers along the side, turning one handle to reveal Joe's phone.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" A dark voice came from behind her and she froze, phone still in hand.

"What's this doing here?" Jean said boldly, holding up the phone. She pressed the home button, revealing the lock screen photo of Joe and Debbie. "It's Joe's, isn't it? Why would he leave his phone behind?"

"Put it down," he instructed calmly. "I don't believe you were given an invitation to visit today."

He moved towards her, fully sober and very frightening.

"Joe wanted to leave his old life behind," he explained, "including his phone."

"And the cuff links his dad gave him?" Jean pressed, keeping a tremor out of her voice. "Noah showed me them. Joe worshipped his dad, why would he leave those with you?"

"Joe gifted those cufflinks to his brother before he left. He didn't want any long goodbyes and asked me to do the honours. Of course I was happy to oblige." He offered a chair. "I realise that this is difficult, Jean, but Joe had no choice."

"You don't understand," Jean said, her voice rising. "I need Joe. I need to find him!"

"You don't need to raise your voice." Graham replied, "Joe would be delighted to see you if you were here, but as he isn't, why don't you tell me why you've really come here?" He remembered Kim's words on the phone. There was no way this girl had traveled across the world just to spring a surprise on her cousin.

Jean slumped into the chair. She suddenly felt tired and close to tears. "It's my Mum." Graham sat down, too. "She's ill again. They've sectioned her. They were going to take me into care, put me in a foster home. I told them I had a cousin in England who could look after me. I... showed them a letter that I said Joe had written."

Graham sighed. Jean was obviously as foolish as her cousin. He wondered if anything she had said about her and Joe's closeness was true.

"I see," he began, sympathetic, remembering Joe's tales of Zoe's issues. "So you came to Joe for help."

Jean sniffed. "I tried to call him, but he wasn't answering. I just thought once I'd got here..."

"That Joe would be able to help. I'm sorry, I had no idea." He realised what a desperate situation the girl was in.

"What am I going to do, if Joe doesn't come back?" Jean could feel the panic setting it. "I can't go back. I haven't got enough money to get home."

"Then we'll have to think of something." He pulled the seat straight next to Jean.

"Why?" Jean looked at him from under dark watery eyelashes. The resemblance to her mother really was extraordinary. "Why do you care what happens to me?"

"Why do I care?" Graham inclined his head. "Why shouldn't I care? I looked after Joe when he was here and I will look after you, too."

Jean fell against him unexpectedly, sobbing.

"Come on now." His hands fell lightly on her back. "Jean, I need to tell you that Joe isn't coming back."

"You don't know that," sobbed Jean. "If he knew what was happening... he'd want to be here. I know he would. I mean, we haven't talked for a while but..." She trailed off, sniffing.

"You've been very brave to come here alone," Graham told her softly, "and I know that Joe would help you if he could."

She sobbed further.

"You said that your mother had been sectioned." He paused. "When was the last time Joe spoke to her?"

"I don't know." Jean continued to sniffle. "She hardly ever used to talk about him. Then just lately she started talking to him, like he was there. Then she started talking about her dad, and uncle Chris again, it was like she could hear them."

"I see." Graham remembered the message he had left for Zoe after Joe's accident. Zoe had never called him back. Perhaps he had been responsible for unleashing her demons.

He looked at the scared girl in front of him now. "What would you like to do, Jean? You'll have to make a decision at some point?"

"Can I stay here?" Jean looked at him desperately. "Just until my Mum's better. I feel like I belong here... I don't want to stay in the village, everyone hates my family there..."

"I know it must be difficult," Graham clasped his hands together, "but I'm afraid you can't stay here. I can't guarantee that I will remain in a fit state..." He hated himself for saying it. "There are also legal implications involved, with Joe away and I'm not really a relative, am I?"

"You mean Kim wouldn't want me here," said Jean, firing up again. She stood up. "What kind of hold does she have over you anyway?"

"I didn't say that." Graham stood up, trying not to look too intimidating. "And I would be careful about making accusations in this village. Joe made a mistake in doing so. As for Kim," he softened his voice. "I would advise against talking to her like that when she returns."

"I'm not scared of her. She should be scared of me." At that moment Jean did look like a force to reckoned with. "What if I go to the police, tell them you've got Joe's phone? You wouldn't want them asking questions, would you?"

Graham frowned. He'd almost forgotten he was dealing with a Tate. "What do you want, Jean?" he asked, suddenly seeing the resemblance to Joe as well as Zoe.

"I just want the truth." Jean sounded older than her years. "Joe is my only family apart from Mummy, and Noah I suppose. You obviously loved him too, so help me find him. Don't let Kim win again."

"Hmm." Graham got up and turned away, thinking, trying to recollect the bits and pieces Joe had told him over the years. "What about your dad? Have you thought of contacting him in Joe's absence?" He strode towards the kitchen. "Would you like tea?"

"My Dad?" Jean took the bait and followed him. "What do you know about my dad? I haven't seen him since I was little..."

"I don't know much." Graham switched on the kettle. "I know he left the village a long time ago, but I wasn't aware that your mother had lost contact with him."

He retrieved the teapot from the cupboard. "I will do what I can to help you, but you must see that it would be inappropriate for you to stay here."

"My mum was in contact with my dad's mum," Jean said, sitting down reluctantly. "She used to send her photos and I'd get birthday cards. Then she died... her name was Viv Hope."

"Well, Bob Hope still lives in the village." Graham explained. Anything that diverted Jean's attention from Joe's whereabouts could only be a good thing.

"Would he know where my dad is?"

"Possibly." He sat down on the other chair, passing Jean her tea. "I will have to tell someone that you're here, Jean."

"I'm staying with Faith and Eric," said Jean promptly, apparently forgetting her desire to move into Home Farm. "I'm safe with them. You don't need to tell anyone. They'll just take me away and then... Joe will never forgive you!" she finished defiantly.

"Well you certainly have the Tate temper," Graham observed, sipping his tea. "But, nevertheless, its my duty. I have to inform social services. It is the right thing to do."

"And you always do what's right?" Jean flared. "Fine. Call them. I'm not going back to New Zealand, and they're not putting me in care. I'm staying here in the village until Joe comes back. Then everything will be okay." She got to her feet, her eyes flashing. "I don't need your help!"

Graham caught her as she made for the door, a firm hand gripping her shoulder.

"You can behave as petulantly as you wish, but it will win you no favours. Not around here." He warned. "As for Joe, I've told you. He won't be coming back. Its best that you accept that." He softened. "You are brave to come here on your own, I respect you for that, but I think it would be best if you tried to get along with at least some of the people. You may just need their help."

"Get off me!" She pushed him away. "Tell Kim from me. I'm not going anywhere." She pushed past him, heading for the front door. There was a slight sob as she fumbled with the lock, followed by the sound of the door closing behind her.

Slowly, Graham walked back into the office where Joe's phone still lay on the desk. He picked it up and pressed the button just to see Joe's photo again, then pressed the phone to his chest, thinking, a lump in his throat. It had been reckless leaving the phone lying around. He needed Kim to believe that Joe was dead, had kept Joe's possessions to prove it to her, but if anyone else suspected that Joe hadn't simply left the village it would lead to awkward questions. He'd already said too much to Harriet. Knowing Jean's situation gave him some leverage, as the threat of social services would be enough to stop her going to the police. He would have to get rid of the phone, just in case. He would pay another visit to the viaduct tomorrow.


	17. A Friend In Need

_Christmas Day Night._

At around sunset, as everyone settled down into Christmas Day evening gatherings, parties and new board games to play, Harriet took her trusty Volkswagen the length of the village and along the snow capped lane toward Home Farm.

The house looked forbidding, like something from a Dickens novel. There was nothing to declare that it was welcoming or warm in any way and Harriet had to force the gates open to drive her car through to the front. A pale light glowed in the room she knew to be the lounge, yet it seemed oddly still.

Casting a shiver away, she cleared her throat and approached the door.

"Graham? Are you here? Its me, its Harriet."

There was no answer. Remembering her training, Harriet braced herself for whatever lay inside and stepped into the darkened hall.

"Graham?" She asked again, pertinently. The lounge doors were shut, ominous and heavy against the shadows.

"Graham?" She tried the handles, "Graham, I just need to know that you're alright. Graham!" She pounded the door with her knuckles.

"There's no need for that much noise." Graham stated simply in reply, his voice hoarse and crackling.

Harriet opened the door with her foot.

"I was worried about you!" Her own tone betrayed more than she would ever say, but his conversation had touched her in a way that she hadn't felt since...Cain.

"Thank you. I'm just sitting here in quiet reflection."

"I can see that! Why didn't you answer?"

"I'm sorry." Graham stood up. To her surprise, sober.

"You haven't been drinking?" She noticed, her voice softening.

"No. I decided against it. After what you said...I realised, I can't let Joe down." He answered gently.

"I didn't intend to judge you. That's not what I'm supposed to do." Harriet admitted, feeling awkward.

"Nevertheless, I have stopped drinking. Which, I am sure will continue."

"Graham. Its one thing to admit there is a problem, its a long road to recovery. Believe me. I know." She swallowed, remembering Michael. "You have to be sure."

"I am sure. It took me a while and a visit from...well, a past face."

"And by that you refer to Jean Tate?" Harriet asked, delicately.

Graham crossed to the window, staring.

"Yes."

Harriet followed him to the corner.

"I heard what happened."

"Ah, I thought you might." Graham chortled good naturedly.

"She wanted to stay here, didn't she? You turned her away?" She put it as kindly as she could, but it still sounded like an accusation.

"Yes. Yes. She did." He nodded, "but an alcoholic isn't really the best candidate to be a guardian."

"True. It depends on how committed you are to wanting to look after her?"

"Social services don't even know that she is in the country." Graham rubbed his eyes, returning to the sofa where Harriet perched on the arm beside.

"What? How could she manage that?"

"She's very resourceful. Like her mother." Graham acknowledged, sipping water from the glass on the table, "I became Joe's guardian when he was a teenager. After he did something Zoe considered to be unforgivable."

Harriet nodded.

"Unfortunately, Jean is now the one in trouble."

"With social services?"

"No, they don't know of the situation. Not here, by any counts." Graham sighed, "there is also the question as to whether Zoe would want me to look after her daughter. I'm not a relative. I shouldn't even consider the option."

"I would say that she could stay at the vicarage, but Pearl has her neice staying at the moment and its a bit of a squeeze. Barely big enough for the two of us let alone a guest." She chuckled, "but, in saying that, I can call in everyday if you need me to? Check up? See how you're doing?"

Graham was astonished.

"I couldn't ask you to do that."

"Ey, you're not asking. I'm offering." Harriet emphasised, "look, who is she staying with at the moment?"

Graham frowned.

"Faith Dingle and Eric Pollard."

"Right, well, you can call her, ask her what she tjinks about staying here and we can discuss the details."

"I'm not sure its a good idea," Graham interrupted her sharply, glancing at her face, "sorry, its not that I'm ungrateful. I just don't think Kim will approve."

"As far as I am aware she isn't due back until March." She tilted her head and Graham recalled that she had been a police officer.

"Hmm. Well, best not to upset her."

"Of course. I don't want to intrude by any means," she put her hand upon his shoulder, "but Graham, having Jean here, its probably better that she hears the truth from you about Joe than the gossip in the village. You know how Charity can be."

Graham sighed.

"Yes." He nodded, weary eyed.

"If it doesn't work out, I can help Jean. But you have to be absolutely certain that you are going to stay sober. Is there anything left in the house?"

"No. I poured it down the sink." Graham advised.

"Well, the house is now free of alcohol. I wasn't on the Family teams in the force, but I know enough. It isn't illegal to take care of a child, Graham. Where do they believe Jean is?"

"Here. With Joe."

"Ah. Well, has his disappearance been formalised with the police?"

"No. I asked him to leave without fuss."

Harriet detected that he wanted to say more, but his lips remained tight.

"I know it must be difficult. Up here, on your own. Surrounded by Joe's things."

Graham grunted.

"Which is why it is so important to find something, read, cook?" Harriet suggested, "you did cook for Joe, didn't you?"

"Yes. Although he rarely appreciated it." Graham replied wryly.

Harriet slid off the arm.

"Look, I don't want to interfere."

"You're not." Graham assured her, standing slowly and moving steadily toward her. "Thank you."

"I've seen a lot of kids...runaways, homeless kids...kids who just weren't given love...but those aren't always the ones we should concentrate on. People think that privileged kids from wealthy backgrounds have it easy and most of them do, but sometimes its worse for them. They only know life as a material thing, not as emotion. Its harrowing to see nicely brought up kids ending up in terrible situations because they couldn't bear not to meet with Mummy and Daddy's expectations, or because they've never felt that bond. Sorry," she paused, "I should stop talking."

"No." Graham replied, "everything you have said makes sense. Its true."

"Yeah, well? Guess some good did come out of those years on the line." She shrugged it off.

"Evidently." Graham smiled at her sincerely.

"Well, I'll um...get a coffee if you don't mind."

"Please. Help yourself." Graham offered, holding out his hand toward the kitchen. "I should make the call to Faith and Eric."

"To Jean." Harriet emphasised.

"Yes. Wish me luck."

"She's a good kid, from what I hear." Harriet called from the kitchen as she made two coffees.

"Hmm." Graham mused, hesitating before the phone. Dialling the number from the card he had picked up in the village shop, advertising Rodney's Antiques business, he placed the phone to his ear.

"Eric? Graham Foster."

Harriet knew better than to listen to the conversation and immersed herself in one of the smoothie recipe books.

"Well?" She asked, looking up at Graham as he entered the kitchen.

"Jean is happy to take residence here."

"Good. I'm glad." Harriet nodded. Graham reflected the nod, awkwardly.

"Thank you."

"Don't need to thank me, Graham. Just doing my job." She replied, although she could sense something between them.

"No. You're doing more than that. I've been a wreck, these past months...since Joe." He gulped, eyes prickling with tears, "I appreciate what you are doing in trying to help."

Harriet smiled.

"Well, now you can help me." She told him brightly, changing the subject, "almond milk and avocado smoothie?"  
She gestured to the book.

Graham found himself drawn in, amused.

"A health drink, one of Joe's favourites." His shoulder brushed hers as they stood side by side, feeling the warmth between them. side by side.

"Simple to make. If you would like to try."

Harriet glanced around at him, seeing beyond the suffering in his deep eyes.

"I should probably go." She murmured.

"Of course. Its Christmas Day." Graham nodded, knowing that she had felt something too.

"Right. Well, see you tomorrow then." Harriet added, taking a brisk pace then stopping.

"Yes, no doubt you will. With Jean."

There was lingering in his voice, a yearning.

"Yes. I'll be around in the afternoon. I'll collect her if you..."

"That won't be necessary. I can manage." Graham reached the door, holding it for her, "Goodnight, Harriet."

"Night, Graham." Offering a confidential smile, she left the house and walked quickly to her car, trying to make sense of their conversation and the feelings there.

As she tried to piece together her visit, Graham stood at the edge of the lounge, head balanced against the doorframe.

Nodding; Harriet checked her mirror, glanced at the house and drove away.


	18. Hearts and Bones

_Boxing Day_

After a hectic Christmas Day, Jean was glad to return to the comfort and warmth of the Barn to enjoy the remainder with Faith and Eric.

Boxing Day dawned dreary and dull, a reflection of how everyone appeared to feel. The sense of excitement had faded, leaving behind long days of dreaded stilted conversation with relatives who were on the cusp of outstaying their welcome.

Thankfully not so in Jean's case. Faith and Eric made every effort to keep her feeling appreciated by insisting that she share their breakfast and lunch, but by the afternoon she was bored.

Nothing could hold her attention. She sat, slumped on her bed in the guest room, legs in the air, huffing as she turned the page of a Chat magazine she had borrowed from Faith's basket. The only Christmas miracle she cared to read about was the vanishing man, her cousin, making a reappearance.

She plugged her earphones in and tried to settle, settling for one of Zoe's favourites, "She's the One" by Robbie Williams. As the tune drifted through her head her phone pinged and she snatched it up eagerly.

One text. From "Noah Mobile"

How's you? N

Ok. Bored here. J x

Wanna meet up? Playground? N

Ok. Will find it x

Cool. C u soon x

Grinning, she jumped up and checked her reflection in the mirror. Her hair was its usual wild wavy mass, but with a few determined brushes she managed to scoop it into a side ponytail and added her beanie; setting it at an angle before grabbing her jacket.

"I'm going out," she declared to Faith who sat in the lounge watching an old TV special as Eric snored in the armchair.

"Ooh anyone we know?" Faith winked.

"Just meeting Noah at the playground." Jean dug her hands into her jacket pockets.

"Oh, ave fun! He's a good lad is our Noah." Faith nodded, pouring herself a sherry. "Ey, but don't be out too late. We'll be doin' supper 'ere round seven."

"It won't be that long, we're just hanging out."

"As you say. Well, have a good time!" Faith called.

"Um...where is the playground?" Jean asked, hesitating by the door.

"By t'church. Ask anyone. But shouldn't our Noah be collectin' you?"

"Its not a date." Jean emphasised, "we're cousins."

"Stranger thongs 'ave 'appened in our family I can tell yer," Faith replied with a twinkle. "Tell 'im 'is grandma says he can come up 'ere and collect yer like a gentleman."

"I can't say that!" Jean retorted, stunned.

"I'll tell him then." Faith typed out a message to Noah on her phone.

Barely a few seconds later Jean received a reply.

"Coming up to get you."

"He's keen, I'll give him that." Faith remarked, "you need to push him a bit."

"But he's my cousin?" Jean repeated.

Faith shrugged and sighed.

"Were never a problem for our Charity."

"Well I'm not Charity." Jean stated firmly, remembering the references that Zoe had made to her during one of her episodes. "Sorry."

"None taken." Faith assured her. "Now quick sticks, he'll be here soon."

Sure enough, the doorbell rang and at a nod from Faith, Jean answered it.

"Were next door. So, yer comin?" He asked, cheeks pink from the cold.

"Yeah." Jean nodded, "see you later!"

"Oh, go off, enjoy yerselves!" Faith shooed them out as she watched them wander away onto the path that led to the village.

"That was awkward." Jean confessed as they strolled along.

"Yeah, soz an' that. Gran thinks we should be..."

"I know. But we're not, are we? We're cousins." She caught his eye and saw a hint of disappointment there.

"Yeah, yeah. Like me and you, I mean, its already messed up what wi'my Mum being married to Joe's dad and you being Joe's dad's sister's daughter."

"The correct term is niece." Jean nudged him with a gentle smile.

"Yeah, well, I s'pose Gran thinks its possible cos of me Mum and Cain." Noah mused.

"Aren't they, brother and sister?" Jean stared at him, aghast.

"Nope. Cousins."

Jean heaved a sigh.

"No, we're weird, but we're not that weird!" Noah chuckled. They had arrived in Main Street, where the pavement or lack of was already cluttered with gift boxes and discarded packaging.

"Where's the playground?" Jean queried, looking around.

"Not far." Noah advised as they passed Jacob's Fold, looking at it wistfully.

"Noah?" Jean stopped.

"Sorry. Ignore me."

"No, what's up?" Jean pressed, following his gaze to the sweet little cottage with neat windows and a smart gate.

"Joe, right, he bought this for Debbie." He explained, "when he were Tom Waterhouse an' that."

"Tom Waterhouse?" Jean narrowed her eyes, confused.

"Yeah. He pretended to be like this hot shot businessman and it were all lies. He really hurt Debbie but she went back to him and he paid for this place. He did loadsa stuff for Jack and Sarah too, but he told me stuff...stuff that he's never told anyone."

Jean saw the strain in his face.

"Noah, come on. Come on, lets get to the playground, we can talk, okay?" She suggested, putting an arm around him.

"Yeah." He nodded, pulling away from Jacob's Fold and leading the way to the playground, where they found the swings empty.

"Used to love these." Jean admitted as she mounted the swing, "used to think it would get me to the other side of the world. Lame, eh?'

"Nah. Y'alright." Noah replied, assuming the other seat. "Joe told me a bit about where yer lived in New Zealand. He said about you."

Jean's heart leapt.

"Yeah? What did he say? Sorry, you wanted to..."

"Jus' that he had good times wi'you and Zoe." Noah kicked the ground.

"Good." Jean sensed an awkward pause, "it must be difficult, seeing that house everyday. Knowing that he..."

"Yeah, but I'm cool with it." Noah blustered, "He's a great big brother."

"I know. Beneath the arrogance and ego." Jean joked.

"Yeah and that." Noah laughed, "I've tried sending him messages. I just wanna let him know that I still need him, right."

"Yeah. I do." Jean nodded, "wish I could tell him stuff too."

"Why did yer come back?"

"Same reason you keep leaving him messages that he doesn't answer." Jean admitted wryly.

"Right. So yer Mum; Zoe, she knows?"

"No." Jean shook her head, "tell the truth, Noah, I had a row with her."

"About Joe?"

Jean nodded ashamedly.

"She said I wasn't to see him."

"Why?"

"Something that happened in New Zealand. Mummy was hurt. I just wanted to see Joe, make sure he's okay...then I got here and Graham threw me out."

"He's been drunk for months." Noah sighed, "I tried helping him but he don't wanna be helped. He just wants to shut himself away in that house and drink. But he's the only person who knows Joe. Like, really knows him. I just dunno what to do. Did you find owt?"

"No, I'm sorry, Noah, just..." she trailed off, deciding against telling him about the phone. It didn't seem fair, especially if Noah had left messages for Joe.

"Come on, what was it?" Noah urged, "I can take it? I just wanna know..."

"So do I. I didn't find anything. I'm sorry." She twirled her hand around the chain of the swing.

"Guess we'll just have to keep hopin' then. Joe'll come back. Yer know he will."

"Yeah." Jean agreed, trying to disguise her heartache. From what Graham had said, he was unlikely to return at all, but there was no way she could shatter Noah's illusions like that. She wasn't cruel.

"Jean!" Harriet's voice came from behind, "there you are, I've got the car ready, picked up your stuff."

Jean closed her eyes, avoiding Noah.

"Yer goin' too? Back to New Zealand? I thought you were stayin?" He demanded, his cheeks flushing red.

"It's not..."she turned to Harriet, "I just need a moment. Please."

"Oh, sorry. I'll be in the church." Harriet advised, retreating, her footsteps crunching on the snow.

"What did she mean?" Noah frowned at Jean, searching her face for an explanation, "yer can't just go?"

"I'm not." Jean replied, opening her eyes and looking directly at him, "I'm going up to Home Farm."

"Home Farm? But yer can't? I thought you were stayin' with Gran and Eric? You said you were."

Jean stepped off the swing, bracing herself. There was no easy way to break it to Noah. She moved closer.

"Harriet spoke to Graham. He's agreed to let me stay." She admitted, feeling foolish.

A very Tate like expression crossed Noah's face, highlighting his resemblance to Chris and Joe.

"But I were up there, Kim said I had to go. What makes you so different?" He accused.

"I didn't want...I mean...I intended to stay with Joe...but..."

"So you're gonna live there? Permanently?"

"I don't know," Jean shrugged her shoulders agitatedly, "I didn't plan this, Harriet just asked him and he agreed."

"Guess I know whose side you're on then. Hers." Noah spat, "I thought you were different, Jean. But yer not. You're like him and her."

"I'm nothing like Kim!" Jean snapped. "Noah, it isn't what you think, please!"

"Dun't matter, does it. Like you really care about Joe." He scoffed, "yer know Graham hates us?"

"Noah..."

"I'm goin. You go up to Home Farm. Do what yer want." He turned away, "I don't care."

Jean grabbed him.

"Noah, please. I can find out stuff whilst I'm up there. I can find Joe, I promise you, I can!"

"Whatever, Jean. Yer just what they said you were. 'Cept yer worse."

Jean watched him walk away, helpess to reason with him. He refused to listen, what could she do? Kicking the roundabout, she wandered away to join Harriet, realising the enormity of what she had just lost. A good and loyal friend. Her only ally, really.


End file.
